Historia Calamitatum
by Whispers Of A Mad God
Summary: Reincarnation AU. Upon her death, the Mistress of Death finds herself reincarnated as the elder daughter of Poseidon the Sea God; but she's not the only witch to find herself reborn a demigod, and not all who were granted a second chance were on the side of the Light. Fem!Bisexual!Harry; Gray!Ravenclaw!Harry; Sane!Bellatrix; Femslash. Not A Canon Rehash.
1. Death's A Bitch, That's Why

_Historia Calamitatum_

_by Whispers Of A Mad God_

_Chapter One; Death's A Bitch, That's Why_

* * *

_ "You wanted to see me, old man?" I saw through a strangers' eyes as I gracefully strode into the Great Hall of Hogwarts School for the first time in what seemed like years. Waist length, auburn hair was tied back in a low, but elegant, tail, swaying side to side as I passed between the House tables. I wore Death's very own Cloak, commanded to affect a deep green hue, over form-fitting black combat robes. I cut quite the beautiful figure, and half the Great Hall wasn't staring at me because of my fame._

_ Besides the seven years of students crowding the dining hall, there was a contingent of Aurors and other political figures mulling around the great space. No doubt the great hero Albus Dumbledore thought holding a meeting during dinner in front of the entirety of Wizarding Britain's student populace was a "brilliant idea."_

_ Scrimgeour and his entourage looked less than enthused to be there. He brightened upon seeing me, though. I had taken his side after Fudge's assassination my Fifth Year and helped the man become Minister. He knew I wouldn't take any of Dumbledore's outlandish ideas._

_ "Rose, my child! You must help me convince these people to prepare for Voldemort's return-"_

_ "By the Bloody Baron, Dumbledore, do you ever shut up?" Holly swished and the Leader of the Light was Silenced, stunning the entire crowd. I laughed in tired disbelief. "We've had this conversation. The Dark Lord died in the graveyard after the Tournament. Sure, the Death Eaters took seven, eight years to round up, but what's done is done, Dumbledore."_

_ As I turned to leave, having left Britain for three years solely to avoid Dumbledore and not wanting to put up with him more than I have to, the Hero of the Wizarding World War disabled the Silencing Charm and shouted angrily, ditching the grandfatherly facade. A mad light danced in his eyes. "But the Prophecy! You must die to ensure Voldemort's fall. The Prophecy-"_

_ "... Is a **lie,** Dumbledore! The War is over and done with! Forget the bloody Prophecy!"_

_ "No! This is not how it is supposed to end!" The Leader of the Light, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump, Headmaster of Hogwarts School, screamed as loud as he could. With a broad sweep of the Wand of Destiny the House Tables of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were masterfully Transfigured into a pack of lions and tigers. _

_ The terrified student populace leaped to their feet and sprinted away from the Great Hall, but all the exits slammed close and locked at the word of their Headmaster. I exchanged a terse nod with Rufus Scrimgeour and made the hand sign for a pincer-and-shield maneuver, one of the many tricks we learned in the Death Eater cleanup, and the Aurors and Hit Wizard guard jerked to action._

_ All but three of us erected unbreakable shields around the perimeter of the Great Hall, protecting the students of all four Houses. The Sixth and Seventh Years lent their aid, powering the magic and ensuring there are no casualties from this farce. But three of us were locked in the battle zone, surrounded by raging beasts and the world's most powerful wizard alive._

_ Nymphadora Tonks and Draco Malfoy pressed back-to-back as they obliterated roaring lions and sneering tigers one by one. I Astralized, a form of short-range Apparition that sneaks through Anti-Transport Jinxes, reforming in the middle of the Great Hall and ten paces in front of the Leader of the Light._

_ "Circulaminis." Dozens of spectral blades manifested midair, rotating and spinning dangerously, surrounding me in a perfect circle. The Blade Barrier Charm shredded through the Transfigured creatures' flesh, bisecting them and severing their necks and spinal cords. I guided my holly wand and my off hand gracefully, directing the slicing swords like a masterful puppeteer, my hyper-lethal marionettes killing the beasts mercilessly._

_ When but eight were left standing, I turned my attention to the blindingly casting Dumbledore. Not wanting to see what insane spell he is preparing now, I ignored the remaining beasts for Dora and Draco to handle, and directed the gleaming, bloodied blades with a wave of my hand. They arced in front of me, each sword aimed for a vital spot on the Headmaster, and with a nonverbal command shot screaming through the air towards Dumbledore._

_ The Supreme Mugwump completed his spell just in time. A perfectly rectangular void sliced into existence in front of him, catching every last Light blade within its depths, only to spit them out twice as fast a moment later._

_ "Ortheon!" I screamed, casting the Magic Missile Charm with everything I had. A violet glyph was illuminated in the air in front of me, complex runecraft decorating its perimeter, rotating clockwise at a deliberate pace. Miniature comets of icy blue and golden violet erupted from the glyph with unerring accuracy, each Evocation arcing towards one of my own rebounded blades._

_ Where sword met meteor there was a shattering explosion, drowning out all other noise. Dora and Draco erected shields just in time to protect themselves from the flying debris. Draco himself realized I was defenseless and manifested a Diamond Barrier around my form, saving my life as I recklessly obliterated every last returned blade before they could slice through the Aurors' shields with sickening ease._

_ "Katrakylisma. Tholoura. Solvas Sempra!" The Vigor and Blurring Charms enhancing my agility and dexterity, I danced side to side to evade Dumbledore's curses. The Disintegration Curse, a personal favorite I crafted back in Seventh Year, shot out from holly in a sickly silver burst._

_ And thus, a twenty-four year old Defense Mistress from Surrey was the first witch to make Dumbledore move in a duel since the forties._

_ Three Bone-Breakers and an Iron-Shackler erupted from the Elder Wand towards me with murderous intent. I evaded the first three with aid from the Vigor Charm and Banished the cold iron right back at Dumbledore. With an arcing curve of my holly wand the iron projectiles were Transfigured into a swarm of keening vultures._

_ Dumbledore immolated the birds of prey with an overpowered "Incendio" but I was already Conjuring more. I played it fast and messy, shooting more for quantity than quality. Like Dumbledore, Transfiguration was my forte, which was the primary reason (right behind Quidditch) that Professor McGonogall bemoaned my Sorting into Ravenclaw._

_ Piles of rocks, trunks of trees, cackling clouds of canaries, a Summoned chunk of Slytherin Table, several bisected and fresh lion corpses, a legion of Hovering Arrows, all of it was Banished towards Dumbledore with reckless abandon. Even Dumbledore and the Elder Wand was incapable of Vanishing it all, and he settled with deflecting the hailstorm away from him._

_ I Transfigured several creature corpses, holly wood melting the flesh together and forming a faux Basilisk nearly as large as Juniper down in the Chamber of Secrets. Gnasher the frothing, venomous monstrosity rushed Dumbledore and he cast an ancient Aerokinesis spell, designed to lower wind resistance around a target, and was able to jerk out of the way of its fangs just quickly enough to survive being skewered._

_ Dumbledore ignored the beast and instead fired several Blood-Boilers and Agony-Inciters at me, borderline Dark curses I didn't believe Dumbledore would ever use, and I fired a Propulsion Jinx at the floor a meter to my right. I was launched painfully away from the storm of curses and rolled to a stop near Gryffindor table._

_ Dumbledore with his insane skill and power managed to arc the direction of his curses, transforming ray spells into homing missiles. He added more to the mix, from Entrail-Expellers that were definitely Dark to Searing-Lights that he stole from me Sixth Year and that were the furthest from Dark. A modified Summoner escaped the holly wand and Gryffindor table leaped over me and impacted with the spellfire, once again narrowly avoiding a messy death._

_ I Transfigured the debris into homing pigeons that splattered against the myriad curses so I didn't have to. I was fully on the defense now, but Gnasher was moments away from devouring the Headmaster once again, so I hung on. But mere heartbeats before the death of the Leader of the Light, Dumbledore spun and fired off an overpowered Sectumsempra that bisected vertically the front twenty feet of the faux Basilisk._

_ I fired off another round of Disintegration Curses right as Draco and Dora dropped their shields and joined me with Bone-Breakers and Flame-Arrows. Dumbledore erected a barrier but was too late, taking a Disintegrator to the shoulder and a superheated lance to the thigh. The Dark magic of Solvas Sempra couldn't be cured, only halted, as the Headmaster of Hogwarts School lost all use of his left arm._

_ In a rage, he activated the Fire Whip and swung it horizontally at me. The Vigor Charm augmented my alacrity enough for me to leap over it like Voldemort's insane idea of a jump-rope, but I wasn't really his target. The sweeping fire grew in girth and heat as it arced towards Draco, who, startled, manifested a Protego that was far too weak for the Headmaster's signature spell._

_ He died screaming._

_ Well and truly pissed, I began the lengthy chant for **my** signature spell, which caused more terror among the leaderless Death Eaters than the Disintegrator and Searing-Light combined. I summoned Draco's hawthorn wand into my off hand to accelerate the incantation time. Dora covered me, staying on the defensive against the world's most powerful wizard and wand combo._

_ Dumbledore, realizing that to get to me he had to kill my family, dropped all semblance of a benevolent Light leader and began throwing around the Cruciatus Curse. Tonks' shields were shredded like wet paper against the Unforgivable onslaught. I narrowly avoided a sickly ray spell but fell directly into the path of yet another._

_ Dora saw and, recognizing my chanting for what it was, leaped into the spellfire. My vision turned red as my favorite cousin – no, sister – was held under the Torture Curse. I screamed the final word of the incantation._

_ "IRRADIUS!"_

_ The very air around us within the protective field superheated slowly, carrying with it the airborne variant of the Basilisk toxin, bringing painful death to all who suffer it. The Aurors, having fought alongside me on the battlefield, erected the counter-shield just in time. I did the same over the recovering Dora Tonks and myself._

_ But Dumbledore never once fought in the Second Blood War, and therefore never learned the counter-curse. He screamed under the agony of the torturous air as the manifested Basilisk venom seeped into his skin, his veins. Seeing no recourse, he turned his wand on himself and cast the ultimate Transfiguration spell._

_ "Aurora."_

_ Becoming a primordial orb of light, something ethereal that defies the laws of nature, he was free of the destructive cloud. Moments passed and as the Irradius Curse subsided, he reformed mere paces in front of me fully formed, fully healed._

_ This... this was why he was the most powerful wizard in the world. I just couldn't compete. I sighed, knowing what I had to do. Stepping over Dora's comatose form, I raised my wand above me. Dumbledore did the same._

_ When Lily was murdered by the Dark Lord Voldemort, she had accidentally enacted the oldest of all magics. Long before there was Dark and Light, long before magic had a name at all. There was one thing with power: blood. Blood, and Sacrifice._

_ An eye for an eye; a limb for a limb; a life for a life._

_ Dumbledore, sensing victory, arced the Elder Wand at my heart. He spoke two words. Two, famous words._

_ "Avada Kedavra."_

_ But the moment I breathed my last breath, he died too. _

_ And we fell into the Void together, the last two bastions of the Light._

* * *

**Full Circle Medical Hospital**

**December 24, 1991**

_Oh, fuck me sideways._

Death was nothing like I expected.

There was no hereafter, no afterlife; there was _nothing at all. _No God, no heaven nor hell, no "next great adventure" that Dumbledore seemed so knowledgeable about. There was only darkness. The Void.

I was comfortable, though. I felt surprisingly warm, as if I was wrapped in Death's surprisingly silky Cloak, covered in Hermione's Warming Charm against the backdrop of snow. It was a casual contentment, of someone who was wholly awake but happy to just lie in bed, to just exist.

I thought I would be sad, or angry, or disappointed at the least; but I felt nothing but that all-encompassing warmth. I expected to miss my weekend get-togethers with the Tonks' family, or my familiar Prometheus and his lewd, sibilant snarkiness, or... well, _anything._ But in the Void, I was incapable of such feelings. I was left alone with nothing but that warmth and my own consciousness, my own thoughts. I couldn't speak, I couldn't move; I just _was._

Rationally, such an afterlife would've terrified me. But I was incapable of fear.

I thought about my old life often. I wished, idly, that I could be by Dora's bedside when she awoke from her Cruciatus exposure coma. She and I were like sisters, ever since she, Andromeda, and Ted took me in when I was eleven. I missed all my old friends, too, from Terry to Michael, Patil to Turpin, even the Slytherins I was close with like Daphne and Tracey, my Yule Ball date. But the longing wasn't painful, it was... _fond._ As if the Void made me incapable of negative or painful feelings.

Then, the memories began to bleed away. My short life at the Dursleys was gone like dust in the wind. After what seemed like moments but could've been years, I couldn't recall even their names; just the occasional mutter about a Dudley or a Madame Dursley when I was older and grown.

The dissolution of my memories accelerated, then. Soon, it was as if my memories began at eleven, then twelve. I forgot how I met the Tonks', then I couldn't recall the Express, then my entire First Year.

Becoming as close to frantic as I could in the Void, I desperately clutched on to my memories, my mind. It was all I had left; my only sanctuary. When I was all alone in the world, penniless and homeless, my mind was my last possession. It was _mine._

But the memories slipped out of my metaphorical grasp. Hogwarts, then the Second Blood War, then my three-year vacation to Europe. But I did succeed in something.

Because all I had left was the memory of the hour of my death.

Death's a bitch, that's why.

I floated formlessly in the Void for... I don't know. Minutes? Years? Time was a human creation, and it all melted together when I'm incapable of boredom, and I'm left alone with my thoughts and my death on "repeat." But slowly, gradually, the Void began to shift. As if I was the target of a particularly shitty Transfiguration, regaining a torso and limbs and organs at a torturously slow pace.

Then, my heartbeat; I couldn't "hear" it in the Void, but I've lived with the feeling all my life, and recognized it by instinct alone. Other sensations joined this one: such as having hands and feet, and being able to maneuver them somewhat. I could hear curious sounds, noises I couldn't place, but despite opening my mouth I couldn't add to the harmony.

It didn't take me long to realize I was back in my mother's womb... whoever my mother had been. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. On one hand, being reborn with a fully-formed, adult consciousness would be amazing; I don't recall how I lived my life, but I instinctively know it wasn't how I'd have liked it to be. But on the other hand, I was _so, so tired,_ and a nagging part of me wanted to stay in the Void forever where I was always warm and couldn't feel pain.

But being reborn... I could be anywhere, a daughter of psychopaths or cultists or, on the luckier side, moral, well-adjusted people. I tried not to run statistics and scare myself with any percentages. Instead, I decided to play it by ear. But still, I worry.

I spent my time planning or, as Draco would call it, plotting. (Curious... I still _know_ these facts about my past life, like Dora was six years older than me, but I don't know _how _I'm aware of these things. Curious...) I decided the likelihood of being born a witch again was low, but knew that the magical core was a part of the soul, and therefore wasn't sure if I'd be considered a magical or not this second time around. And so I wondered what kind of career I would like.

I realized that I wanted to stay fit this time around, maybe apply for some efficient form of martial arts to replace or augment my magic; I didn't want to be left defenseless, after all. It would suck to be reborn with my adult consciousness intact only to die a second time to something stupid. I fought Voldemort, damn it! (Despite not knowing _how _or _when... _or who, exactly, Voldemort is.) I wasn't going to die like a pathetic muggle.

After a while I grew bigger and more maneuverable. I let go of the lingering doubt that a true death would be at all better. I altered my perception and made the choice to look at this rebirth as the gift it was. I wouldn't be making any foolish decisions, this time; I was going to make something of myself.

The wheel of time rolled endlessly onwards. Soon enough there wasn't any space left in my mother's womb to move around without serious effort and, if I'm correct, causing some serious pain to my mother. Whoever she was, I didn't think she deserved that.

And, whoever _I_ was, despite a seriously powerful witch named Rose, I don't think I deserved being consciously pushed through my mother's... _parts_ into the world. That sounds more like I've been in hell this whole time and just didn't realize it yet. I didn't deserve something like that.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Death's a bitch.

The hour(s) of my rebirth was... horrifying. I'm not going into details, not even in the privacy of my own mind. I'd much rather pretend it never happened, or I slept through it, or _something._

The warmth and care of being held as a baby by my mother was beautiful, though. I'm fairly positive I've never felt anything like it before. My cries died down and I instinctively snuggled in, allowing my primal instincts to take over, seeking warmth and protection. I prayed to gods both living and dead that whatever poor woman gave birth to me wouldn't drop me, because I would _never_ forgive her. One of the things I can recall is that I was a grudge-holding, merciless, vindictive mother fucker. I would _civil disobedience_ her straight into insanity with my masterful passive-aggression skills.

I began to realize I wasn't reborn as Rose Potter-Black when the doctor referred to my mother as Sally Jackson and asked, "what are you going to name her?"

"Hmm... If I had a boy I was going to name him Perseus, but that wouldn't do for such a little angel." If I could I would've laughed mockingly; the war veteran who dueled Dumbledore to the death was _no angel. _"For my princess, I'll name her Andromeda. Andromeda Jackson."

Hey. At least I wasn't named _Nymphadora._ No, I was named after her _mother._

The stress of being born (again) mixed with the frailty of infants and I was falling asleep, fast. I didn't try and stay awake.


	2. I Avoid An Early Grave

_Historia Calamitatum_

_by Whispers Of A Mad God_

_Chapter Two; I Avoid An Early Grave_

* * *

_ "Hmm... If I had a boy I was going to name him Perseus, but that wouldn't do for such a little angel." If I could I would've laughed mockingly; the war veteran who dueled Dumbledore to the death was no angel. "For my princess, I'll name her Andromeda. Andromeda Jackson."_

_ Hey. At least I wasn't named Nymphadora. No, I was named after her **mother.**_

_ The stress of being born (again) mixed with the frailty of infants and I was falling asleep, fast. I didn't try and stay awake._

* * *

**Montauk, New York**

**February 4, 1992**

_ "Raven tresses frame your face, _

_ "And your pillow's soft as silk. _

_ "Here the moon is standing by, _

_ "Like a pool of milk. _

_ "Let the dreamboat come along, _

_ "And take you for a ride. _

_ "You can choose your favorite teddy bear, _

_ "And carry him inside. _

_ "Sailing through a starry sky, _

_ "Holding onto teddy tight. _

_ "Know that mommy is still close by,_

_ "Through the whole dark night. _

_ "Have a taste of sparkly star,_

_ "And drink a sip of moon. _

_ "And when you feel that you have gone far,_

_ "Then sail on to your room."_

Mother's lullabies were perhaps my favorite part of the day. They were only overtaken by father's visits. And I had been more-or-less six weeks old when I first met my father. He wasn't quite... what I was expecting.

I had spent those six weeks doing whatever it is babies do. I pretty much let my infant body run on autopilot. The only real difference, as far as my mother Sally Jackson was concerned, is that I didn't cry just for the hell of it. When I needed her assistance for... baby things... I would let out a single, helpless cry. Then I would shut the hell up and allow her to do her thing.

She was perplexed, at first. No doubt all her baby books were telling her I'd be a miniature Godzilla until I was four. But I instead spent all my time being as adorable and friendly and _mercifully, blessedly silent_ as I could. I still had some lingering terror that my mother was a psychopath in disguise and I didn't want to piss her off. With just my luck I'd be dropped off on some street corner in London and die, _again._

When I wasn't alerting my mother for assistance I spent all my time in the baby crib sucking on the tail of my fox plushie, the only one I actually liked. I don't know why I did; must be something about my old life. It had sleek, auburn fur and white spots around its feet, left eye, and the end of its tail. I named it Puzzlebox the moment I laid goo-goo eyes on the thing. Most of the other toys she got were ocean-themed, I couldn't for the life of Lady Magic figure out why, but Puzzlebox was my favorite.

Mother either didn't have a job or had took time off work to care for me in the beginning weeks. I took pride in the fact I was most likely the easiest infant in the history of infants to raise. I spent hours just seated on her lap, cuddling Puzzlebox like a fucking lifeline and making contented noises. Mother would be whooping hallelujah about this if only she wasn't perplexed and mildly alarmed about it all.

I was indecisive on the whole "infant" thing. Part of me liked such an easy, simple life, with no stress. I was always warm, never hungry, insanely fascinated with the fox plushie Puzzlebox, and mother was always cooing over me. Life was almost boringly uncomplicated.

But there were the bad parts, too. The baby formula tasted fucking awful, for one. If I ever have a kid, I am _not_ forcing that mush down their throats, not unless they're being exceptionally loud and annoying. (Mother of the year in the making, here.) And while I get there's not really anything else viable, I'll find a way to magick it down their throats, assuming I have magic.

I was also almost overflowing with energy, too. Way, way too much energy for any infant / toddler in training to have. Which, coincidentally, is the main reason I was always playing with Puzzlebox's tail. It gave me something to do that tired me out quickly, without flailing around and giving mother a heart attack. I wondered, idly, if I had been born with a condition.

Then there was the whole helpless gig. I did _not_ like not being able to take care of myself. I needed aid cleaning up, eating, drinking, burping, travelling, everything. I even tried walking once only to smack my face into the ground. I had to be carried around like some sack of blubbering flour _everywhere._ It would've been humiliating if only I could summon up the effort to care.

Mother had been singing that same lullaby about moons and milk when there was a knocking at the door. I was curious to see who it was, as there hadn't been a single visitor in the six weeks since my birth. Not even my dead-beet dad, whoever he was, who certainly wasn't good enough for my mother. Then again, not even a god would be good enough for the angel.

Imagine my surprise when, after kissing my forehead gently, mother opened the door to reveal my dead-beet dad. He was jittery as a virgin at the Yule Ball, looking excited, nervous, and terrified.

"Hey, Sally."

"Poseidon?" She breathed.

Poseidon? _Poseidon? _What kind of fucked up world do I live in where mothers name their children _Poseidon? _The only alternate is that he was the _ocean god_ Poseidon. Making this admittedly delicious man in a floral print button-up with the deep, sea-blue eyes a god.

But... nope. Still not good enough for _my_ mother.

But, those eyes... if I had developed any good karma in my last life, any at all, it would ensure I would inherit those beautiful eyes. My Slytherin tendencies to seduce and manipulate would triple immediately. I could get laid by anyone- _anyone I want! _Which was a very, very good thing. I recall only sleeping with a handful of girls, and that only vaguely. I am planning on fixing that as soon as I'm old enough.

"Can I come in?" Poseidon – father – asked. He sounded hopeful, his deep, vibrant voice full of longing. Any negative feelings I harbored for the guy melted at the sound of that rich voice. It really wasn't fair. (Maybe it would be if I _also_ inherited a feminine version of that voice. I couldn't exactly go around speaking like a Brit, could I? I was beginning to realize I was reborn across the pond.)

"Of course," she whispered, melting just like I did but probably in a more... _sensual_ way. By the Bloody Baron, if I have to watch my parents make me a little brother I'm going to kill myself and hope for a second reincarnation. Clean slate, and all that. I don't think I could stand it. Mother led father over to the couch I was seated upright on. "Here she is."

"A daughter," he murmured in awe. I racked my mind for everything I knew of Poseidon and his half-blood daughters, but came up blank. So either I'm his first little half-blood girl, or they're rare enough to necessitate such awe. Either way, kudos for Andromeda Jackson. "Can I...?"

"Of course."

Any doubts I held over my father being the god of the sea was washed away when I was held in his arms. Power pulsed through his veins in tune to his heartbeat. The salty tang of his domain followed him like an aura. I was drunk on it, high as bath salts but perfectly lucid. If I were to die, I would go peacefully, just feeling that sensation.

"I named her Andromeda."

"The woman so beautiful, her mother sung her praises all across the land," father wondered. "And the lovely Nereids themselves became jealous. Upon her death, her beauty was immortalized in the stars, becoming a constellation."

That's not quite how the story _actually_ played out, if I recall correctly. Andromeda was the daughter of an Aethiopian king, Cepheus, and his wife, Cassiopeia. When Cassie's pride leads her to boasting of her daughter's beauty supreme over even the Nereids, Poseidon, influenced by Hades, sends the Sea Monster named Cetus to ravage Aethiopia as divine punishment. Naturally, they strip Andromeda, who is innocent in all this, to a rock, naked and chained to be devoured by the creature as a sacrifice. She had to be rescued from a certain, messy death by Perseus. (I assume they then gallivanted off into the sunset and had lots of sex. Perseus was a red-blooded hero who has adrenaline coursing through his veins after slaying a monster, and Andromeda was the most beautiful woman in the nation, naked, also with adrenaline pumping through her blood from nearly dying. Three guesses what happens next, _really.)_

"She married Perseus, and they had nine children. Their descendants ruled Mycenae for many years."

_Called it._

An alternate story, one I like much more, was where Andromeda teamed up with Cetus the Sea Monster to capture and devour Perseus. They failed, but hey, points for trying. Most heroes are assholes in the stories. Perseus probably deserved it.

"Let's put Andi to bed, okay?" Mother whispered lowly, leaning over the couch and toying with father's hair.

_Oh, shit. Please tell me they're not-_

"If she had been a boy, I would've named her Perseus. But it's not too late to try."

_Oh gods, they are._

Needless to say, when I was hastily placed in my crib I cuddled Puzzlebox tight and tried to just forget it all. Maybe death and a second rebirth wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

**Montauk, New York**

**April 24, 1993**

It was well over fourteen months later that my life was flipped upside down. But, before that, I grew out of infancy, which was a godsend.

Life continued in much the same vein as it had for the first six weeks. I refused to let go of Puzzlebox for even a moment, carrying her around either by the tail or the abdomen, and wailing pathetically those rare times mother thought to separate her from me. It wasn't as if I meant to be a possessive little bastard, but being a small child seems to have destroyed my mind-to-mouth filters. I didn't like being separated with what I thought to be my last link to my past life, and my body responded to that distaste with caterwauling. I didn't feel any guilt, though. I'm such a ridiculously easy child to raise that the occasional hissy fit about being separated from Puzzlebox is nothing.

Not to mention, I've always had a... _flexible _moral code. It is one of my better qualities. The threat of kicking up a racket in order to keep my fox plushie by my side is on the lighter end of my manipulative escapades. _Not that I remember them..._

My mind had been slowly regenerating the lost memories, however. Whatever veil is placed over the soul to prevent carryover of memories from rebirth to rebirth seems to be weakening in its hold over me. I'm beginning to remember what my life was like as a young child in Godric's Hollow, which includes beautiful memories of Padfoot, Moony, "dada," and "mummy." I also recalled their horrific murders, and being ferried to the Dursleys, which was a catastrophe waiting to happen.

That's where my recollection stopped, though. Like a terrible movie put on pause, and I am _dying_ to find out what happened next. Did the Dursleys have a moral takeover? Did I grow up and become a psychotic murderer because my mother figure never hugged me? Did I strangle that awful fucking cousin of mine in his sleep, like the whale deserves? Paying customers want to know, damn it.

Anyways, Puzzlebox remained the only toy I played with. Build-a-blocks? Hell no. Lego's? Decent, but after constructing my fiftieth awful copy of Padfoot with all the black blocks I got bored. Those mind-numbing picture books? Apparently I have dyslexia, but even if I didn't, I would've torn them to shreds and thrown them in the ocean (if I could). A rattle? What idiot invented the rattle and decided to give it to a child? I'm loud enough, I don't need _help._

And so mother took me to the store with her to pick out my own toys, since all of her choices were bust. There I decided upon a Rubik's Cube, because I always wanted to know how to solve one, and because it would help me learn how to use these tiny hands of mine. I was always accidentally slapping things, having no dexterity with them at all. And my fingers? Fucking useless.

I also found what appeared to be a plush rendition of Padfoot, or at least close enough that I didn't really mind. It was another link to my past life that I treasured with my twisted, black heart. I cherished it nearly as much as I did the fox, Puzzlebox. Now all I needed were copies of Prongs and Moony, but not Wormtail because he always gave me the creeps.

And so I chose my third and final toy, a gods-forsaken picture book. But it included a bunch of different animals in it, and I hoped to find a stag close enough to Prongs, so I could point at it and coo and maybe non-verbally convince mother to buy me a plush version of it. No such luck, though. Once I was old enough to pronounce "stag," I'm going to spam the word until mother caves and buys me a plush for it. Hopefully I pronounce it right and mother doesn't think I'm saying "slag," "hag," or "fag." That would be awkward.

Once I believed myself to be old enough I attempted to walk. "Attempted" being the operative word. Apparently babies only manage it because they don't have a danger sense. I was far too terrified of faceplanting (again) to work up the courage to just... go for it. So I clutched Puzzlebox and Padfoot tight and held on to the coffee table for dear life.

Eventually, I managed it. Mostly because I didn't want my mother to think I was an idiot or something. So I dramatically threw down my plushies and valiantly tried to swagger. Needless to say, the first dozen times I injured myself. But if I'm going to be slaying monsters and rescuing princesses when I'm older, I'm damn sure going to do it on my feet, so I got up and tried, tried again.

I had been terrified when I heard that the monsters in the greek mythos still walked the earth. Father had told me all about them in gruesome detail, making the mistake of thinking I was too young to understand or would forget by the time I'm older. And so I learned all about bloodthirsty Sea Monsters, the Minotaur, the Furies, Hades' risen dead, Echidna, the Chimerae, and whatnot. More importantly, I learned that every last one of them wanted to kill me. And that Zeus the fucking god of gods, and Hades the fucking god of everyone who ever died, ever, both wanted _me_ to gruesomely die because of a pact my father broke.

Fucking awesome. I'm not going to make it to twelve years old. I'm _never_ going to get laid at that rate.

Not all of father's rambling stories were about my dismal life span, though. He also told me all about Atlantian politics. How such and such a breed of fish are all dicks, how the monsters who inhabit the waters are typically left alone so they could eat demigods, and how Triton has always wanted a little sister badly enough that he'll probably overlook Poseidon's own infidelity by the power of my cuteness. He _also_ told me how his wife will _not_ overlook it, and will probably take out her rage on me, so I should watch my back else I'll be brutally killed.

Beautiful. Why couldn't I just be a witch, again?

Regardless of father's awful stories, though, his visits were always my favorite. His voice was soothing, incredibly affectionate, and warm enough to melt ice by pitch alone. And his aura of sea-godliness was sublime. I quickly grew over-attached to the guy, and always cried when he left, even if it was after sleeping with my mother.

I knew his visits would have to end, though. I heard enough tear-jerking stories about how monsters are attracted to godly scents, and how his presence raised the likelihood of my brutal death, to have that information seared into my mind.

But he came often enough to give me that little sibling mother was always going on about. Once April of '93 rolled around she began to show, and I loved to press my hand to her baby bump and wonder if it was going to be a brother or sister. Either way, I plotted ideas of how I could get him or her to lose their virginity ASAP once they're older. I'm going to be the world's best awful elder sibling. I'll corrupt them with the Marauders' traditions, and make them the scapegoat for all my pranks, and teach them to fight so they don't get pummeled like a coward.

It's like the Gryffindor aspect and the Slytherin side of me nodded gravely to one another and shook hands, so they could team up and make either Perseus or Andromeda the Second's life a living, glorious hell. Or, erm, Hades. Right.

All those devious plans of mine went down the drain the night of April Twenty Fourth, Nineteen Ninety Three, though.

Father didn't knock, this time. He just opened the door and strode inside, sighing heavily and reclining on the couch like an old man. I stumbled over to him and held my hands in the air, the children's universal request for "up!" and settled down on his lap a moment later. When mother came through a room in the back, she instantly knew something was up.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"Had to kill a couple hellhounds out front, Sally."

That brought her up short. It meant that our combined godly presence was beginning to attract monsters. It was a miracle that Poseidon showed up before they found the seaside house in Montauk we're staying at. I don't fancy being devoured by monsters before I reached so much as the terrible twos.

Mother had a similar reaction. She stilled, a hand going to her baby bump protectively. It wasn't really a "bump" anymore. More like a mound.

"What do we do?"

"I've offered it before and I'll offer it again. Would you like to move in to Atlantis with me? I'll be faithful to you for the rest of your mortal life. Our children could grow up safe, with the best tutors my kingdom could offer, and become legends among the gods. We could give Andi several little siblings, and she could lord over them all with that haughty way of hers. We could-"

"I know, Poseidon," mother whispered. She sighed and seated herself on the couch's armrest. "It would never work. You expect me to move in next door with your wife? And I realize I'm just the blink of an eye to you."

"Sally," father breathed. "I love you, _so much._ I couldn't-" his voice caught, and he sighed.

I felt like I was intruding on a really sappy romance. It was obvious to me that Poseidon really believed what he was saying. But despite how insanely awesome it would be to grow up in fucking Atlantis, I was worried about murder by pissed off wife.

So I decided to let them work it out. Not like I could intervene anyways. My first word was "puzzle," and while I'm up to "daddy" and "mummy" a clear-cut argument that I'd like to move in with father would be pushing it a little.

"What are we going to do about the monsters?"

"Other gods can have two children by one mortal," father explained. "Because their godly essence isn't as dense, as powerful. Twins, or two consecutive children, either way. But it's never been like that for us of the Big Three. If it had been just Andi, then you could raise her until she was ten, eleven max, without any serious problems. With Andi and our unborn child, if I never showed up again, you'd have to send them to Camp Half-Blood by the time they reach six or seven. No excuses."

Sally licked her lips. "If I-"

"However," Poseidon plowed on, not so much as looking at her. He stroked his fingers through my thick, raven hair, and I cooed at him adorably. I was attempting to be extra sweet so I could at least _visit_ Atlantis. "Even then, there is a risky chance of you all being murdered. If not by monsters, than by my brothers, and their minions. I will not allow that."

"What are you saying, Poseidon?" I ignored the grave tone of the conversation, instead focusing on father's use of the word _minion._ That sounded sweet. I'm asking for minions for my birthday. Maybe he'll even pull through, and give me a tame, pet monster. Make it a combined birthday/Christmas gift.

"So sweet, so calm and quiet," father murmured, ignoring mother and smiling grimly at me. I reached a hand into his beard and giggled cutely. "Unlike most of my children, who are loud, energetic and vibrant, like the raging sea, you have inherited the calm of the ocean's epicenter. Such a rare trait, for one of my children."

"Poseidon?" Mother asked, growing worried.

"Unlike the others, you spurn most of the sea-themed toys," he continued unflinchingly. I was beginning to see where Poseidon was going with this. Mother did too, by the look on her face. "An auburn fox and a black dog. Puzzle and Padfoot, yes? How cute. I haven't had a daughter in millennia, you see. And one to be so unique in personality as well? As beautiful as the famed Andromeda herself? I can't let you be eaten by monsters, no matter how guilty I'll feel about doing this to you."

"Poseidon, what are you saying?"

"I love you Sally, I really do." Father rose from the couch, picking up both Puzzlebox and Padfoot as he did so. Mother took three frightened steps backwards. "But you will dig our children an early grave. I can't blame you for it, but I also can't allow it. My daughter is too precious to be slain by some no-named monster, untrained and unaware of her heritage, not even knowing her father's name."

"Poseidon. Don't."

"I am so sorry, Sally. I'll be by to visit our second child and give him or her my blessing. But I am taking Andromeda to Atlantis with me. Where she will be safe." I watched wide-eyed in mute stupefaction as I was ferried away from my mother for what I believed to be the last time. I was silent as the grave.

"Please."

"I am so sorry."

And then we were gone.


	3. The King And His Court

_Historia Calamitatum_

_by Whispers Of A Mad God_

_Chapter Three; The King And His Court_

* * *

_ "I am so sorry, Sally. I'll be by to visit our second child and give him or her my blessing. But I am taking Andromeda to Atlantis with me. Where she will be safe." I watched wide-eyed in mute stupefaction as I was ferried away from my mother for what I believed to be the last time. I was silent as the grave._

_ "Please."_

_ "I am so sorry."_

* * *

**Atlantis**

**April 24, 1993**

The moment father walked out that front door, he vanished in a haze of salty vapor, taking me and my plush toys with him.

I had severely mixed feelings about this entire predicament; on the one hand, I am almost unhealthily excited over living in fucking _Atlantis._ No matter how noteworthy or dangerous my past life could have possible been, there just simply is _no. Fucking. Way._ That anything I did could top having a princess' suite in lost, underwater, City of Fucking Atlantis. No matter how awful the place turns out to actually be, it will still be better than living topside, if only because of Atlantis' mythical reputation.

Living there also meant that those pesky _"no direct interference" _laws and the caution behind attracting monsters were both null and void concerns. It's not like Zeus is just going to charge into the deepest depths of father's domain only to murder little ol' me. And the odds of becoming monster chow down there is also thankfully low. And while I'm nervous about being skewered on the knives Amphitrite, father's wife, will undoubtedly be glaring at me, there's still that little girl in me that wants to spend all my free time with "daddy."

Living in Atlantis is also good for my admittedly miniature Zeus-like ego. While there is a portion of me that tries to tone down the hypocritical condescension, I'm also acutely aware that _very, very few_ of father's half-blood children were taken to be raised in Atlantis, and being offered _(or forced to accept...)_ such an opportunity appealed to my vanity. Even as a toddler father noticed this, referring to _"that haughty way of"_ mine.

But on the other hand, I'll be taken away from my mother for the entirety of my foreseeable future, seemingly never to return. She had been everything I could possibly have hoped for, and totally not a psychopath like I feared. She's raised me without a single complaint day in and day out for the past sixteen months, while I was too small, weak, and stupid to take care of myself. I will forever love her for that.

And the idea of being separated from her _hurt._ It hurt like the memory of my past mother, Lily Potter nee Evans, being murdered before my eyes. Because in my selfish mind, it's almost like Sally has been, since I will likely never see her again. It's too risky to be ferried topside once I'm settled in Atlantis, and since she'll be raising a child of the Big Three for the next eleven, twelve years until I'm old enough to make the trips easily enough myself, there's no saying if she'll survive long enough to re-introduce herself to me.

I also felt a piercing in my heart at that knowledge that I will likely never be as close to my full-blooded little brother or sister as I probably would have been had father not decided to abduct me. My decision to raise him or her Marauders' style will have to wait until they are taken to Camp Half-Blood; if I am not there already by that time, I will appeal straight to father and ask to be taken myself. I can only hope and pray that they will still be young and malleable enough to my corruption when I do arrive.

But all of that was irrelevant in the force of the pain shining in my mother's eyes as she panted, heavily, watching father and I leave Montauk with a broken visage upon her beautiful face. It _hurt_ to see that agony there, and to know that_ I helped cause that,_ no matter how impersonally. And to know that I would make the same choice regardless, because I didn't want to be devoured by monsters drawn to my and my brother's (or sister's) scent, and because I selfishly wanted to live in Atlantis with my father and his court.

It was with a bittersweet weight in my heart that father and I arrived in the front parlor of Poseidon's Palace in the heart of Atlantis. The room's walls had a pale, golden sheen, marked with dashes of royal blue. A thick, red velvet carpet lined the floor, leading towards the parlor's only door. There was a rich chandelier hanging from the ceiling, lit with candles that never burned out. Portraits of father's godly family fighting the giants or the titans lined the walls, including a masterful rendition of Perseus slaying the Sea Monster Cetus in an ornate, silver frame.

Lady Magic knows how, but mere moments after setting foot in the Sunken City a second plume of vapor materialized my hovering, legendary half-brother, Prince Triton. I recognized the sea messenger god immediately from the stories. He looked like a slightly younger Poseidon, minus the facial hair, and with twin mermish fins instead of legs. He was dressed in a luxurious black suit, freshly pressed, with a silver crossed tie emblazoned with a golden trident. Had it not been for the more... aquatic... aspects of his physiology, he could have passed for a wealthy business man.

But to my mortal sensibilities he didn't look frightening or powerful at all. Aside from my own father who at least appeared perfectly human, Triton was my first introduction to the godly secret society I had been inducted into. And instead of a dangerous and hyper lethal sea god, I saw a merman dressing up as a human salesman. I understood that underneath that flimsy exterior lay a battle-hardened war veteran, but the visage was just too hilarious and sudden for me to _not_ react unfavorably.

And so I laughed at him. Had I still been a twenty-fourish haughty witch, I probably would have been speared with his gleaming trident. Luckily for me I was an adorable toddler in the protective hands of one of the three most powerful gods on the planet. I quickly transformed the laugh into a child's blubbering and affectionate series of noises, stretching out my hands towards him, much like I had for father only minutes prior in that shack at Montauk.

Father and son stared at each other for a long minute, Triton attempting to digest the sight of what was clearly his first mortal half-sister in centuries, and Poseidon waiting patiently for his son's and lieutenant's reaction to this admittedly startling revelation. Triton just blinked, gazing at my raven-haired, sea-green-eyed form unwaveringly, as if my very existence was incomprehensible and clashed with his world view. (It probably was.) At last, he spoke.

"Is this...?" Triton asked, voice emotionless and distant, filled with polite curiosity.

"She is," came the dutiful answer.

"And this means...?" Triton continued.

"It does."

"And does Mother...? Triton asked, his voice steadily rising, wondering if his mother was aware of this latest transgression.

"No."

"And when were you...?" Triton inquired dangerously, voice slowly filling with righteous anger.

"... Never."

_"How could you do this to her, __**again,**__ father!"_

"I've never loved your mother anyways. It was Zeus' idea."

_Oh, shit. Shots fired._

Triton was nearly glowing with indignation and rage. The salty tang of the sea, muted as it was from the walls of Atlantis, flared and spiked uncontrollably. A rush of induced, godly fear clouded my mind, pumping adrenaline into my veins and drop-kicking me into my fight-or-flight instinct. I could _see_ currents of air spinning in a dangerous vortex 'twixt my half-brother, the sea messenger god. And suddenly I felt _very, very stupid_ for laughing at this walking, talking force of wrathful nature.

_"Father, I-"_

"Later, Triton!" Poseidon barked, face and voice both stern and unrelenting, like a lethal tidal wave. "I assume my lovely wife has noticed what's up?"

"Every last immortal in Atlantis sensed the half-blood's presence, father."

"Beautiful. I will speak before the court, then. Carry your sister." Father followed up his sudden command by thrusting me, firmly yet gently, into my elder half-brother's waiting arms. He seemed surprised, and his flaming rage was immediately cooled and transformed into wide-eyed bewilderment. He looked down at me as if he couldn't believe I would dare do such a thing, and seemed torn between loving me and hating me.

Realizing my lifespan would be considerably lengthened by worming my way into his ever-pumping heart, I cooed at him adorably – once again – and reached my tiny arms around his neck. I saw nothing wrong with using my inherent cuteness to prolong my death. It was a blatant manipulation, yes, but one that could never be proven, considering I'm a sixteen month old child.

Plus, I've always wanted an elder brother. He may not be the Marauder I've always envisioned my imaginary big bro to be, but he is an immortal sea god war veteran with a strong protective instinct. He'll do.

"Father, wha-"

"Triton, it is I who have broken your mother's faith. Not her." His eyes softened, no doubt understanding his long-time son's plight. "Her name is Andromeda. Andromeda Jackson. She is an innocent girl who I have condemned to a tough life, breaking the vow I made with my brothers, and the trust your mother held in me. She will stay here for maybe a decade, then leave for Camp Half-Blood. Do not pull a Hera and make her life any more difficult than I have already forced it to be."

"... I'll think about it," Triton murmured, eyes flashing with guilt and denial. His gaze lowered to me, still attempting to look as adorable and non-threatening as I possibly can, and he clenched his jaw in deep contemplation. After a long minute, he sighed ruefully, his lips quirking upwards and his eyes crinkling in a way comfortingly reminiscent of his father. And then he spoke, voice pitched low so only I could hear, and likely not intending even that. _"I've always wanted a little sister..."_

Mission accomplished.

Triton rocked me back and forth and hummed what appeared to be an Ancient Greek lullaby as he followed our father through the winding passageways deeper into the heart of Atlantis. The lyrics to the song resounded with something deep within me, something integral to my soul, like a long-lost native language I haven't heard spoken in many years. But I wasn't able to focus on this somehow expected revelation, as I was far too busy being enchanted with the architecture.

Atlantis was... impossible to describe. Despite my advanced vocabulary, most of which consisted of Wizarding slang and theorems, I couldn't put the massive palace into words that would do the wonder justice. My admittedly untrained eyes were wide with delight and awe. The colors were bright and vibrant and full of life. The arches, obelisks, pillars, structures, even something as simple as a rectangular wall, were all crafted with the hands of a master. Every inch was pristine, every portrait detailed and dramatic, every statue flawlessly sculpted and fit for both a museum and a Paris art gallery.

No wonder mother didn't have to work. I get aiming for independence and all, but father could sell half his palace and the immortals living here wouldn't notice for _years._ Mortal hands could spend a millenium in an attempt to recreate such a beauty, and still fall short of the entrance chamber. The godly presence I feel whenever I'm being held by my father, or even by Triton, resonates within this palace and pulses through it like a heavenly heartbeat.

For nearing ten, fifteen minutes we just _walked_ through hallway after hallway. Triton just smirked at my display of awe, and had it not been a perfectly natural reaction for a toddler I would have suppressed it and blushed. But instead I giggled and pointed and made the appropriate admiring noises. And dug my way further and further into the sea messenger god's heart.

We eventually reached a branching in the hallways, a fork in the path. Left clearly led to the Throne Room, but father hesitated before following down that route. He turned to Triton and bit the inside of his cheek, deep in thought, before nodding his head and coming to a decision.

"My son..."

"Yes, father?"

"Deliver Andromeda to an appropriate suite, and ensure it is decorated correctly. A crib, children's toys, cushioned floors, everything. Stay with her. It would not be wise for her to meet Amphitrite just yet."

"I understand, father."

"Here," Poseidon murmured, pulling my plushies from a pocket in his shirt. He handed them to a blinking messenger god. "Their names are Puzzle and Padfoot, according to your sister. They're... precious, to her. Lose them, and I'll lock you in a supply closet for a year, Triton."

"Ah..." My big brother blinked owlishly, before smirking in amusement. "Of course."

Shaing his head ruefully, my father stalked to the Throne Room, leaving me behind with a highly lethal sea god I only just met. Not the greatest parenting skills, but for all his demigods Poseidon doesn't have much practice actually raising them, so he could be excused. Regardless, he had plenty on his mind; his amused visage dropped, replaced with a mighty king who was prepared to speak before his court, and was readying to lay down the iron law. He swelled to twice his size and flung open the doors.

My big brother turned his gaze to me, raising an eyebrow, as if asking a silent question. I don't know what he was expecting. I haven't moved on to complete sentences yet.

Considering the adorable child routine has been working so far, I snuggled into him and made various giggling noises. "Tri..." I mumbled, stumbling over the word purposefully. "Trit-eh... Tri-tin... Triton!"

"Yes," the sea god whispered, curling a finger into my hair. "I'm Triton, little sister."

And then he carried me off to my lavish room, which was more expensive than half of Montauk, although not nearly as warm.

That night, I suffered hauntingly realistic dreams.

Only, they _weren't_ dreams, not really; they were memories, and they were _mine._ Of my past life, of Rose Potter-Black, Wizarding saviour and Defense extraordinaire. But I wasn't strong and proud, like in my recollections of the day of my death; I was weak, vulnerable, and _very, very afraid._

My memories had left off after three days of being ignored in the Dursleys' closet underneath the stairs located at 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England. Months passed underneath the tender care of Sally Jackson as I tore and scratched at that blank veil over my soul, covering up the memories of that life on the continent, driving me mad with curiosity and tempting me with answers held just out of reach. And I knew, _I just knew,_ that the wonderful life I've been living as Andromeda Jackson was leagues superior to the hell I'm realizing life as Rose Potter-Black was.

Turns out, that dawning epiphany was correct. Rose's life sucked.

Four years of hell flooded my young and malleable mind in a single night. The experience was, in a word... _painful. _But the agony of the floodgates slammed open and drowning in a torrent of memory was nothing compared to the content of the actual memories themselves.

My stay at 4 Privet Drive began easily enough, after my three-day prison sentence in the closet where my Aunt and Uncle pretended I didn't exist. But that was only the calm before the storm. Because my Aunt remembered what a squib was on that fourth day, and incorrectly drew the conclusion that I had been given to them instead of, say, a magical orphanage because I couldn't practice their Wizarding Magic.

And so she was kind, and caring, and loving. She loved the fact that her _"freak"_ sister and his _"unnatural"_ husband had given birth to someone sweet, someone beautiful, someone _normal. _Every time I smiled or laughed, Aunt Petunia saw it as a victory over her deceased sister. Raising me a muggle was like a knife to Lily's memory, in Aunt Petunia's eyes; making me love it only twisted the blade deeper.

And then I tried reaching for my favorite picture book from a high shelf, but couldn't reach, and accidentally levitated it down to me; and Aunt Petunia saw, and felt betrayed.

Suddenly, it was Lily's eleventh birthday all over again. _I _had inherited the family's good looks, _I _had inherited the magic, _I _had what Petunia desperately wanted. And every time I smiled or laughed, it was like spitting in Petunia's face, and rubbing it in her ego.

Jealousy bred resentment, and resentment transformed into hatred. Because on that day, I had also inherited all of Petunia's hatred for my mother. And that day, my favorite (living) person in the world became my greatest enemy. And I didn't understand it.

I stumbled over to my loving Auntie, but she was gone, _and she wasn't coming back._ I couldn't comprehend who this terrifying new creature was, or why she had my Auntie's face, and why her lips were twisted in such a gruesome way. Because the emotional pain was always worse than the physical could ever dream to be.

Four years later, on my sixth birthday, I couldn't take it anymore. And I ran away.

And never looked back.

When I awakened, tears trickled down my face in waves. The deeply pulsating pain from the memory overload mixed with the agony of four years of condensed physical and emotional abuse to form a heady cocktail capable of staggering a Titan. I wept, blearily glaring at the beautiful moon shining through the magic ceiling of the nursery, enchanted to show the night sky just like Hogwarts School's did.

The moon... _empowered_ me, strengthening my core. In a burst of radiant silver light, I vanished from my position in the ocean-blue crib, only to reappear on my father's bed halfway across Atlantis.

I had Astralized, the technique I invented in London but couldn't manage to teach to anyone else; but the accidental magic used was potent, because I had never before been transported such a distance, especially without a wand. _At least, now I know I'm a witch, still._

The sudden realization that I was still what had caused Petunia to hate me so much was akin to pouring salt in my still-bleeding wounds. And so I cried harder.

"Andromeda..." my father whispered, dropping his book titled _Raising Demigods- For Dummies! _and settling me down on his lap. He cooed nonsensical words and sweet nothings in an attempt to calm me. I latched onto him with all the strength my child's body could muster. "I knew I shouldn't leave you alone your first night here. That was... very short-sighted of me. You must miss your mother."

While true, it wasn't what the real problem was; but I would _never, ever tell anyone_ I have the memories of a twenty-four year old witch from England. I'll be taking _that_ with me to the grave. (Although, the comment about my mother had me discretely checking the room for signs of the demoness Amphitrite; luckily for me and unluckily for my father, it seems he was kicked to the metaphorical couch, as he seemed to be reclining in a spare bedroom.)

"You can sleep in here tonight, Andi. How does that sound?"

"Uh-huh... 'kay."

And I fell asleep in his arms, contenting in the decision to keep my past life a secret. But four years later, I would laugh in disbelief and scrap that declaration. After all, the moment I laid eyes on that surprising someone I thought I would never get to see again, I just _knew_ there would be no point in even trying.

Thinking back, I realize the mad assumption that I was the _only _witch to find herself reborn in the godly world was a touch arrogant.


	4. Through Trial, Comes Absolution

_Historia Calamitatum_

_by Whispers Of A Mad God_

_Chapter Four; Through Trial, Comes Absolution_

* * *

_And I fell asleep in his arms, contenting in the decision to keep my past life a secret. But four years later, I would laugh in disbelief and scrap that declaration. After all, the moment I laid eyes on that surprising someone I thought I would never get to see again, I just knew there would be no point in even trying._

_ Thinking back, I realize the mad assumption that I was the only witch to find herself reborn in the godly world was a touch arrogant._

* * *

**FLASH.**

_"I know I'll never be able to replace him, Rose, I mean – Prongs was something else, but he was your father. No one can just, just step in after that. It's just a parchment, just a legal thing, really, but I thought – I'd like – I mean, oh, fuck it."_

_ "Siri?"_

_ "... Yeah?"_

_ "I would love to be your daughter."_

**FLASH.**

_"Missstresss, can I eat the interlopersss, pleassse?"_

_ "No, Prometheusss, you may not. Their corpsssesss need to be taken to Auntie's Auror Divisssion."_

_ "But the Death Eatersss tassste good-"_

_ I paused, the knife's edge hovering over my nails; an awful habit I had picked up from __**that**__ Unspeakable. I considered my next words._

_ Would it __really__ hurt the war effort? We were more akin to police than an actual army, at this point._

_ "Jussst one, my sssweet."_

**FLASH.**

_"...ttle moon fey. But I cannot allow you to break the bloody fool's legs. While fun, the Headmaster would crack down on us like-"_

_ My voice abruptly cut off as I saw my favorite Housemate undergo a rapid change, straightening like cold iron in her chair. Her eyes, large and pleading behind thick-rimmed glasses, became glazed and unfocused. Dust and serpent venom hung heavy in the air. She looked... ancient. Arcane. Powerful._

_ And then, she spoke._

_ "Windows fog and the Veil is torn, for the world awaits her Rebirth..._

_ "Death rises from his Obsidian Throne as wind dowses life's Hearth..._

_ "O Soldiers, lay down your swords, for She has arrived!_

_ "O Savior, shine upon us, with your Grace we've thrived!_

_ "The song that pierces the Veil, what lies beyond the Fade?_

_ "Through the dreaming Dark, moonlight-"_

_ Eerie, haunting melodies were severed, my closest confidant devolving into a fit of hacking coughs. The scent of dust and venom evaporated, the tense atmosphere breaking harshly. Weakly, she ground out one last word, before collapsing into deep unconsciousness._

_ "... the Glade."_

_ I blacked out._

**FLASH.**

_"You did it? You did it! Awh, yeah! Not as fast as this roaring Lion, but impressive all the same. A-ha!"_

_ "Well, Siri?"_

_ "Well, what?"_

_ "What's my name?"_

_ "After a misadventure like that, can't be anything other than Puzzlebox, can it?"_

_ I flushed in thick embarrassment. He really won't let me live __this__ one down, ever._

**FLASH.**

_"Who are you?"_

_ "My name is Andromeda Tonks. You are Rose?"_

_ "Mm-hmm," came my noncommittal reply. My nose returned to the book – Wizarding Traditions and Etiquette, funnily enough. Silence reigned for long moments._

_ "What? Nothing at all?"_

_ "Your name is weird. But, no, nothing at all comes to mind. Why?"_

_ I flipped the page._

_ Madame Tonks licked her lips, twitching in a rare hybrid cross of amusement and annoyance._

_ "I'm your magical guardian, Miss Potter. In the case of your parents' deaths: after Sirius, who is in Azkaban; after Mister Lupin, who is a Dark creature; after Mister Pettigrew, who is deceased; after Mister and Misses Longbottom, who reside in the Cruciatus Exposure Ward, indefinitely... I am to raise you as my own."_

_ "Considering where I've been, I'll say you're pretty shitty at it."_

_ This time, her twitch was definitely annoyance._

_ I smirked._

**FLASH.**

_I gracefully rose to my feet, pressing my back against Dora's._

_ "Wotcher, Puzzle! Long time no see!"_

_ "Aye, Onyx. Been busy breaking into the Ministry."_

_ "That was you? Ha! Shoulda known. Auntie Em was having kittens."_

_ "You better show me the memory later, Dora. Ready?"_

_ "Been ready."_

_ "On three. One..."_

_ "... Two..."_

_ "... Three!"_

_ "LUX ACRIBUS!"_

**FLASH.**

_"Tell me, Apprentice. What is the difference between the Dark and the Light?"_

_ "At its core? Nothing, Master. Power is as power does."_

_ "Very good, Rose." A pause. "Any questions?"_

_ "... What do I need to learn, to win this war?"_

_ "Under my tutelage?" The scarred veteran smirked, a dark look crossing his eyes. He looked bloodthirsty, crooked, dangerous. Powerful. "This won't be a war. It'll be a slaughter._

_ "Now!" He continued, his red cloak swishing behind him as he paced back and forth. "Now, I teach you the Unforgivables, which are actually quite forgivable, if your wand is pointed at Death Eater scum. I'll teach you the way I was taught."_

_ "How-"_

_ "IMPERIO, bitch!"_

* * *

**Atlantis**

**December 26, 1997**

I awoke.

Nearly four years have passed since I came to Atlantis. Four years since I was separated from my mother, off to live in the Sunken City. Four years since the Veil over my soul has revealed to me the first six years of my past life.

In all that time, not a single recollection has returned to me. Now, this.

I sighed. This dream sequence wasn't like before; back then it had been linear. Logical. Crystal clear. As transparent as a shard of Atlantian obsidian glass, and as wickedly sharp with its colour.

This latest round of revelations had been glimpsed as if through a hazy murk, a fog of sulfur and toxins. The voices were distorted, warped as if by a god's hand; occasionally nearly inaudible, other times edged as cutflower as a shard of Stygian iron.

I learned plenty, though:

… Sirius was alive. Has to be, as he was featured in several of those hazy memories. And my adopted father, too; the very thought made me smile in euphoric glee.

… I had a familiar who liked to eat people, which I was apparently perfectly okay with. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the thought didn't bother me; they _were_ Death Eaters, after all. And speaking snake-language with a massive, carnivorous serpent added a terror factor to my past life that I find honestly fascinating.

… I was the recipient of a prophecy, which worried me. Prophecies always led to death. I wanted nothing to do with one. And _this _particular prophecy I couldn't divine any answers from. Irritating, that.

… My fascination with the fox plushie makes sense, now. I had become an Animagus, and alongside Tonks, if her moniker means what I think it does.

… I had gone to live with Andromeda Tonks, who's name I mocked; the very thought made me flush with amusement and morbid embarrassment. Unfortunately, this was _after_ some nameless horrific years, if my response means what I think it does; I looked ten years old, so a full four years after running away from the Dursleys.

… I had a sadistic teacher.

I shivered.

My mind went into overdrive, devouring every last morsel of knowledge that could possibly be gained from those meager recollections. I didn't know when the next dream sequence would be, or if there even would be; my consciousness, trained by years of war and combat, was able to systematically study these memories in the back of my mind, leaving the front to focus on my day.

After all, it was December Twenty Sixth; two mornings after my sixth birthday. Today was the day Poseidon believed me to be old enough to begin learning the _"ways of the demigod;"_ I assumed he meant _"how to kill things."_ I was almost unhealthily excited.

Triton's salt-and-pepper kitten, Lola, mewled softly and leaped onto my four-poster, mahogany framed, deluxe queen bed. Royal blue silk scrunched underneath her paws as she kneaded the cotton mattress. She nudged me with her pink nose, her whiskers tickling my flesh, crawling ontop of me with all the curiousity and caution of America's first explorers.

I giggled at her. Lola was something of an enigma; the official story ran counter to what I knew to be the truth. Big Brother Triton tells me Lola was the sole surviving kitten of a magical creature gifted to father millenia ago, and was thus naturally immortal, and somehow very important to the peace treaties between the various underwater sentient races. Father told me the truth, though; Triton has a fascination for all things cute, and had found Lola on one of his sojourns to the surface 'round the year Two Hundred. He had begged father to immortalize her, which was the extend of his abilities in that department.

I found the whole situation hilarious. Triton acted all self-important, wand-up-the-arse, like an all-around badass, but he was anything but. He was the kind of life-size teddy bear who would immortalize a kitten so he could coo over her for thousands of years without tiring. It was the trait that made him love me so much.

I snickered, only halfheartedly shoving my latent vanity back down. I nuzzled Lola right back for several long minutes. At last, my watch-clock beeped at me angrily, forgoing the usual soft rock tunes for loud and jarring trumpets.

Sighing, I lifted little Lola up and placed her gently on my trident-emblazoned pillow. I murmured affectionate nothings as I slipped out from underneath the silver and royal blue sheets, the official colors of all things Andromeda; the same shade of the deep-sea waters in the neighboring ocean, and the warm glow of my Astralizations. Graceful was my stride as I passed from one end of the room to the other. Stopping in between the ornate standing mirror and the sleek, mahogany wardrobe, I stripped out of my lace nightclothes.

I admired my tattoo for only a moment. Inked in black, tinged royal blue in the sunlight, lay four words shining proudly in Ancient Greek upon my lower right-hand side of my collarbone. I haven't the slightest why I marked the phrase on my skin, not really; it was much the same as my affection over the plush Puzzlebox: a _knowing_ that trickles through the veil over my soul, forgoing the connotations and breathing knowledge into my mind. It was important. To _me._ That was all that I knew.

_"Through Trial, Comes Absolution."_

Shaking my head, I waved my off hand aimlessly. The soft Summoning hissed open the wardrobe door, revealing rows of dresses, running clothes, and casual wear in silver, black, blue, and white. An inaudible corner of my mind raced through my list of clothing and picked out an outfit, a snapping of my waving wrist calling the articles to me.

The Mist, the Magic, the One True Power, whatever you want to call it: the ambient energy latent in the air obeyed my command, whispering from my soul's core soothing songs.

Black lace underclothes; thick white leggings long enough to reach my heels; dark knee-high boots buckled with Atlantian obsidian; a loose royal blue tunic, sleeves stretching to my wrists, hem hanging to my thighs; and my usual necklace, upon which a glass pendant hung, of a hybrid trident and hand-and-a-half blade.

I dressed on autopilot, the part of my mind not tasting the delicious memories of Rose Potter-Black lost in wandering musings.

The Sunken City had quickly become my home, these past four years. It was extraordinary how quickly I had adapted to the mythical palace of Atlantis.

Dawn and dusk were a ritual, carried out almost exactly the same as they had back at Montauk. I would awaken at an ungodly hour and clutch Puzzlebox or Padfoot until my caretaker came. As if on cue, one of the mermish servants who managed the upkeep of father's palace would slip in through the door and clean me when I was too young to do so myself. I would eat breakfast and then be ferried to the Messenger Room, where I would play with excessively expensive toys on the floor, or with Big Brother's salt-and-pepper cat Lola, and try not to distract Triton from his work.

Dressed, I trekked through the far door and down several winding passageways. I had been given a suite nearby Triton, back when father still worried about an assassination attempt from his wife; after years of grudging silence, however, he has relaxed. I ran a hand across the cherry wood door of the Messenger Room as I passed it.

I had learned, in those early days, that Triton managed all the menial aspects of father's domain. He made sure the friendly underwater creatures in father's employ received their paychecks, handled any complaints or death threats lodged at Poseidon (of which, there were many), organized monster hunts for the more dangerous and esoteric risen dead (such as Cetus the Sea Monster, a menace that always manages to escape, which drives Big Brother up the wall), as well as managing the Sea Postal Service, or SPS.

My elder brother had a tendency to ramble as he worked, though it may have began as a one-sided conversation directed at me. I was grateful, as not only were his mutterings shockingly educational on all matters godly, but it drove the boredom away.

I learned the monikers, lifespans, histories, powers, weaknesses, flaws, and habitats of every godly being, both monster-esque and otherwise, with any relation whatsoever to the sea. A mind long since honed memorizing reams of spells both Dark and Light for the war effort quickly went to work digesting and categorizing this potentially life-saving information. I vaguely recalled having a fascination with the Greek and Roman mythos in my past life as Rose, and that knowledge proved true in validating the myriad stories I've picked up since my rebirth, albeit with differences from the legends and what is apparently godly fact. And while most of the stories I heard at least referenced in the grand library of Hogwarts School, one in every five myths my elder brother dicatated towards me were completely and utterly _new._

When the dawning revelation of _why, _exactly, this happened struck me with all the force of a fallen meteor, I felt like standing up just to smash my face right back into it. After all, the legends only speak of the heroes' and the gods' escapades back in Ancient Greece; but I am well aware that Western Civilization traveled with the times all across the world. There's _no fucking way_ the gods, half-bloods, and monsters stopped being interesting during those long centuries. It took Triton explaining the story of a daughter of Apollo cursed with eternal undeath in London back in the fourteen hundreds to make me realize that there are _far, far more _legends and heroes than just the Greek ones I'm familiar with.

Which meant more monsters. More gruesome ways for me to die.

Bloody _brilliant._

Smirking, I followed the hallways deeper into the Palace. Rows of shimmering red carpet draped the floor. Shelves of artwork, pottery and chalices lined the pathways. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling at every intersection, the candles forever lit, a gift from Prometheus years ago. The walls were lined with portraits of the Princess Andromeda. Portraits of King Arthur the son of Zeus and his Round Table, demigods all. Portraits of Billy the Kid, son of Hermes, shooting and killing the lawman.

As I passed further on, nearing the Cyclopes residences, the thick, velvet carpet transformed into simple marble. Blades, shields, and longbows hung from racks on the walls, some with blood still dried on their tips, forever dissolving the hardy metal. The ceiling rose to triple its height, to accommodate the Cyclopes massive frames. The simple, dark blue walls were covered in portraits of Machiavelli, son of Athena and Ares _(of all the gods, why?),_ with his foot pressed against the humongous frame of a faceless monster. Portraits of what could only be the secret side of World War One, the fallen bodies of demigods covering the ground like a cluttered, thick layer of scattered toys in a child god's playroom. Portraits of the Spanish and English taking the Americas by force, long years before the rise of manifest destiny, blood often dripping from their blades.

The Cyclopes' Quarter reminded me of Big Brother Triton, actually. While my one-eyed brethren were akin to larger-than-life teddy bears, underneath their fuzzy exterior lay a highly lethal and bloodied warrior race. Funny? Yes. Amusing? Yes. Murderous? Occasionally.

After all, when I wasn't in the Messenger Room learning ever more about the various ways I could catch up with my Uncle Hades the direct way, I was in the Artificery with perhaps my favorite relatives, the peppy and mirthful cyclopes. At first, I was worried their tremendous size and strength would result in my sudden demise. Luckily there was little grounding for my fears.

My brethren were kind and gentle, festive and drowning in good intentions. Their stories were light and humorous, proving a relieving counterpoint to Triton's and father's darker tones, showing me the more human side of the legendary heroes and gods. And so I learned all about the time Hermes and Apollo challenged each other to a prank war and thus started the French Revolution; and how a daughter of Prometheus decked out a battlefield in ingenious traps and therefore managed to defeat Ares in a one-on-one fight, to the god's eternal shame.

Not everything I was informally taught pertained to the illustrious history of the Greek gods, though. Just like the knowledge of the Atlantian Court I absorbed through osmosis from my elder brother Triton, the cyclopes taught me everything there is to know about godly forging.

There were five magical materials in the world, and were the only "mundane" way to kill monsters. While magic not linked directly to Lady Hecate could injure or even maim the denizens of Tartarus, there were scant few ways to officially dissolve them, and I was displeased to realize none of them was likely to be produced from the end of a wand.

The first was Imperial gold, which I was only aware of because cyclopes were hilariously awful at keeping secrets. One of my brothers had taken to forging one such blade right in front of me, and had answered my curious question on reflex when I peppered him with quandaries. He was publicly shamed for his mistake, which he took in stride, because no one seemed to give a damn about my knowing; Poseidon was already breaking a much bigger, more important Law to keep me in Atlantis. Telling me of the Romans was a small matter, compared to _that_ particular crime.

The second was Celestial bronze, the Greeks' favored metal, if only due to its relative quantity. While effective at slicing through monster flesh, it wasn't as durable or specialized as the three higher-ranked materials. It was so common, in fact, that most of the Greeks didn't so much as know of the higher three.

The first of which was known as Stygian iron. It was the metal native to Hades' realm, the Underworld, and was both gleaming black and freezing cold to the touch. Uncle Hades had a tendency to gift such blades to his favored children, and strike down half-bloods not as directly related to him who dared wield them.

The second was known only as Olympian silver. The Cyclopes residing in the Sunken City spoke of the metal with awe, if only because not a one of them had ever been able to forge with it. Zeus hoards the resource zealously, handing out butterfly knives and switchblades of the material once every three or four centuries. The exact properties of Olympian silver is an unknown to all but Zeus himself, his mysterious smith, and his chosen few.

The last, and my personal favorite, was the material originating from my father's realm. The rock was a deep black, shining royal blue under direct light, and could be sharpened to a razor blade rumored to slice through anything. It never lost its wicked edge, never bending out of its masterful form once forged. This godly variant of volcanic obsidian found miles beneath the ocean floor had only one name: Atlantian glass.

And it was of Atlantian glass that a pocket knife had been forged, around six inches from the blade's point to the hilt of white sea dragon bone, carved with his signature trident_. _My father had gifted it to me on my fourth birthday, stating that _"all proper demigods ought to have their own blade."_ This would have been a horrendous and laughably awful idea had I been a typical child. As it was, I had a new favorite toy to play with, practicing finger rolls and quick-draws and wandless Summonings.

The last of which soon proved to be a draining, but fruitful, endeavor. I had never truly had the time to practice my wandless magic, or perhaps I lacked the inclination: I don't know, I can't recall; but either way, the entirety of my witchcraft repertoire consists of wanded magic. I was aware of the basics, but only in theory.

Wands and staves are referred to as magical foci for a reason: they _focus_ the wild magic in our core into precision effects. It was the reason Dumbledore, for all his knowledge of the arcane, still resorted to spells like _"Incendio"_ in a fight; his core was so vast, so powerful, so _wild,_ that it took far more effort for him to condense the flow of energies into intricate weaves. And the focus in question doesn't so much as have to be a wand; the Resurrection Stone was a focus, as well as several rings and trinkets I was in possession of. Neville Longbottom even had an Orb, which was suited for powerful Flame magics; although I can't recall much more than that.

The magical core works in an unsurprisingly scientific fashion. Ambient magic, which hangs thick in the air all around us – unseen, unfelt – seeps into the soul, filling the core. This is because it has the same quality as heat, in that it travels from areas with a high density of magic to a low density of the energy. And a witch or wizard's soul essentially has a great big void inside of it, where the magic can seep through the walls and fill us with its heavenly essence; we can then expel it with the proper training and mental power, where it flows right back into the core over time.

This was the primary reason behind the curious effect of magically-dense locations, such as Hogwarts School or the Ministry of Magic, where spells fling quicker and cores recharge faster. The local ambient magic was far more thick in the air, thereby rushing into the core quicker.

In Atlantis, this effect was all the more relevant; while godly power and Wizarding magic was fundamentally different, my soul didn't seem to care. I assumed this was due to my status as a half-blood. While in my father's domain, my core refilled so quickly I was left with nothing but a migraine and an ache in my palms for my troubles.

I recharged even quicker when bathed in saltwater.

I was high off so much power, in fact, that I couldn't help but toy with it. Thankfully I had the core of a twenty-eight year old, else I would likely have permanently damaged it. However, I rarely had "alone" time; and so it was inevitable that I would be seen manipulating the energies of magic.

Triton just assumed I had a preternatural talent with the Mist, bordering on prodigy levels. It wasn't unheard of, for halfbloods. Twice-a-millenia rare, but not unheard of. It was close enough to the truth, really; the Mist seemed to be one and the same with magic.

Father had been there when I had Astralized the first time, but seemed to buy the same explanation Triton had thought of. I could see the truth in his eyes, though. He _knew_ about magic, knew I must be a witch or wizard reincarnated, or _something;_ but he didn't say a word. I wasn't that surprised, to be blunt.

And so I kept right on practicing magic. Most of the time I spent with my Summonings or Banishings, knowing they were the simplest to learn, and that with enough practice it could develop to full-on Telekinesis; I also knew I was years away from developing such a skill. After four years of non-stop practice I could Summon my clothes from my wardrobe, and keep them held aloft with a curious hybrid of Summonings and Banishings in equal pressure; not much more than that, however, and not many items at all.

When I wasn't moving things around with aimless hand gestures and the strength of my mind, I was practicing other First Year spells without the ease and comfort of a wand; spells like _"Incendio," "Aguamenti," _and _"Stupefy." _I had little luck. And when I first managed to knock Triton's cat Lola out with a flash of red light (and subsequently gave the life-size sea god teddy bear a heart attack), I decided to put _that_ particular skill on the back-burner for now.

The last and perhaps most important magical skill I practiced was my Astralizing, though, a short-range variant of Apparition I created. The change was curious, most curious; I distinctly remember knowing no one had been able to learn it aside from me. And now, as a half-blood of the waters and the tides, the spell seemed almost laughably easy.

I wasn't able to recreate the cross-Atlantis trip I had taken that first night, however. I couldn't Astralize anywhere not immediately in my line of sight, occasionally through a wall if the moon was out. I assumed the reason had to be because of the unique relationship between the moon and the tides; it was the only correlation between it and father's domain, after all. What else _can_ it be? But that didn't explain how vanishing in a burst of silver moonlight, Astralizing, could be unique to me _before_ I reincarnated into a demigod. So I ignored the mystifying question and went right back to teleporting around the sea messenger god's office.

I was probably the weirdest fucking kid to ever grace Atlantis' walls.

Laughing mockingly to myself, I absentmindedly traced a finger around my glass pendant, walking on auto-pilot towards the predetermined training room where I am to meet my mysterious combat and godliness tutor. Three objects hung on the silver thread necklace, tied in knots at four, six, and eight o'clock, if I were to look at the jewelry like a clock face.

At four o'clock hung my Sea Trinket; the Cyclopes had pitched together to craft it for my fifth birthday. Basically, the Trinket was a godly version of a swiss trade knife. It had what seemed to be a thousand attachments, with uncountable potential uses. It could unlock doors, magnify my view, break through the Mist, track any target; the ultimate all-purpose tool. It was currently shrunken to two inches in length, looking for all the world like a miniature down-turned sheathed dagger, or black cross.

From Triton at eight o'clock on the silver necklace thread I had been given an obsidian key, called a Bypass, with swirling lotus designs and my name stamped in royal blue. It allowed me to skip through the regular waiting period for a delivery from his personal business, the Sea Postal Service. All I had to do was drop the package, with the Bypass taped on top, through a puddle or pool of water; moments later the obsidian key would break the surface of the liquid, falling skywards where I could easily catch it. I was his favored sister, there was_ no way_ he would make me pay valuable golden drachmas for the service, or wait the customary four-to-six hours.

From father, and hanging at six o'clock on the thread, I had been given an enchanted recurve bow, crafted from an Atlantian ash tree, with a bowstring threaded from Atlantian glass; I didn't ask how that was possible. It was a beautiful work of art, delicate but powerful, screaming graceful danger. The enchantment enabled it to transform into a rounded glass pendant, with father's trident depicted in gold embossed on the front. I was dying to learn archery, if only so I could use that bow.

I had named it Rozen Krone; "Crown of Roses," in deference to my past life. It wasn't the traditional Greek, but I didn't rightfully care.

At last reaching the thick, white oak door, I knocked twice and pushed it open with my usual nonchalance. Rising from a desk, I saw a stretching figure, turning to face me with a smile on his grizzled visage. My mouth opened in shock; he looked younger, yes, more handsome, with eyes a sparkling sea-green, but I could recognize that face anywhere.

I breathed out the words, a pleading whisper filled with hope, desire sharp enough to tear down the Veil.

_"Moony?"_

* * *

**A/N:**

** "_Imperio, bitch!" _is now my new catchphrase, and Trademark Pending.**

**She woke, she got dressed, she walked down a few hallways, and it took me five thousand words to complete. But, oh well. Four years of history to get through. I thought I would spice it up with some hazy recollections.**

** That being said, this chapter didn't want to be written. Occasionally I had to borrow words, twisted, from my alternate Fairy Tail x Fem!Harry reincarnation!crossover**_** "Sacrifice: Rise From The Ashes"**_** just to get through it.**

** While I did steal words, none of the content was borrowed; not truly. I really do believe foreshadowing is the spice of fanfiction, and have therefore been dropping hints since chapter one. Many surprising things are planned for future chapters, and every last one of them have or will be mentioned slyly in earlier updates.**

**You thought X and Y were throwaway details? Ha! Poor motherfucker. That'll be resurrected in Chapter Twenty-Something, with a sword, and a rebellious attitude. And I'll be there in the Author's Note, laughing at you for not realizing it from my nonsensical details twenty chapters prior. Every twist is somehow foreshadowed in earlier chapters, because I like playing with my food. "Dinner... _and a show?" _Yes. I just want to see which of you notices it first. Winner gets a blue chocolate chip cookie.**

** Some hints are just more blunt than others.**

* * *

** Does Moony remember his past life, like Rose is beginning to? Does he know of other reincarnated wizards, if he does remember? Why does he look similar to his past self, despite having different parents? Is he still a werewolf? If he has Poseidon's eyes, why wasn't he the prophecy child? Will he recognize Andromeda? Is he still a wizard? Did he go to Camp Half-Blood? Is he still addicted to chocolate, like I am? What's his favorite color? Mine's gray, because I'm boring and devoid of life.**

** I don't know the answers. (Actually, I do.) There is only one way to find out.**

** Wait for another torturously slow upload. I'll be playing MMO's when I should be writing. I have no regrets.**

**I'm going to get some sleep now. I've been up for nearing sixty hours on coffee and Dr. Pepper and it's starting to show in my ramblings. Who actually reads all of this? I won't, and I'm writing the damn thing. Whatever.**

** Toodles.**

** Whispers out.**


	5. The Prophecy Of The Chained Lady

_Historia Calamitatum_

_by Whispers Of A Mad God_

_Chapter Five; The Prophecy Of The Chained Lady_

* * *

_ At last reaching the thick, white oak door, I knocked twice and pushed it open with my usual nonchalance. Rising from a desk, I saw a stretching figure, turning to face me with a smile on his grizzled visage. My mouth opened in shock; he looked younger, yes, more handsome, with eyes a sparkling sea-green, but I could recognize that face anywhere._

_ I breathed out the words, a pleading whisper filled with hope, desire sharp enough to tear down the Veil._

_ "Moony?"_

* * *

Two years have passed since that day.

My studies in the long days since have been incredibly comprehensive, Moony possessing all the same skill at teaching as he had my Third Year _(not that I remember it...)._ He was strict but gentle, his knowledge both wide-ranging and deep. He covered the theoretical knowledge with a black board, glasses pressed up against his long nose, only to ditch the bookworm exterior and dive into the practical.

The first area of training, and perhaps my favorite, was swordsmanship. Rozen Krone wasn't an ordinary magical and unbreakable Atlantian obsidian glass recurve bow blessed by the immortal Storm Lord; no, it was far less _pedestrian _than **that**_._ It could also transform into a long and thin, double-edged, razor-sharp hand-and-a-half bastard sword.

It was further unique in that the bladed length, despite having the design of a hand-and-a-half longsword, was nigh overflowing with godly power and Mist. So much latent energy swirled along the blade's length that a tap of long fingers and a muttered _"reducio"_ could alter its size at will. As I was but seven years old, Rozen Krone was more akin to a wicked hunting knife; a crackling trident emblazoned upon its shaft and hilt, serrated edge sharp enough to slice even air, but a hunting knife all the same.

With such a hauntingly beautiful weapon, I couldn't bare to hack and slash like a commoner daughter of Ares; for once I listened to my over-inflated sense of importance and requested Moony teach me a more refined, elegant, _civilized_ method of killing trash.

My body type was lithe and dexterous, designed more for speed than raw power. As such, my combat stance and typical Greek arrhythmic modus operandi for slaying monsters and the like had a focus on deflections, evasions, dance, counter-strikes, and grace. Most days a spare Atlantian glass dagger found its way to my off-hand, freezing to the touch from my overloaded Sea Lord demigod's essence.

I learned from father that all of his half-blood children had a specialization, of sorts: most were hydrokinetics, with the ability to manipulate water with a preternatural skill; however, others have had dominion over ice, sea storms, the tides, salt, earth, and various creatures.

I seemed to have power over the moon, which was connected to the tides. But why that made my surroundings freeze with thick layers of jagged ice when my emotions ran hot, I hadn't the slightest idea.

Swordsmanship wasn't my only area of godling education, however. I also learned archery.

Namely, that I was horrible at it.

My _(complete lack of)_ natural skill wasn't about to hold me back, however. For hours every day I would draw dozens of arrows from a quiver slung over my back like a baldric. When not a one of them even reached the target, my fury would drop the temperature in the room, falling into a cold rage: an emotional state of single-minded determination, overflowing with cool calculation, logic, and reason.

In that state of mind, it was as if all my emotion and stress bled away, crystallizing my mental state like a transparent shard of black Atlantian glass. Colors became sharper, sounds became richer, the soft breeze of the training room utterly known to me from the sheer intensity of my hyper-awareness and sensitivity. I was ruthless in that cold rage, merciless and unforgiving, unyielding and unrelenting. And for hours I drew that silver threaded bow string, until my fingers were slick with crimson blood and the enchanted ceiling showed naught but dawn's fledgling sunrise.

It was a rare trait of father's children; much like a natural disaster's unwavering destruction, it was as if I had transformed into a force of nature herself. Like the tidal wave crashing, unrelenting, against the cliff face, I was filled to overflowing with harsh determination and never-ending stamina.

It wasn't an understatement to say that I quickly became quite skilled at archery. I would never match the raw talent of a Hunter of Artemis or child of Apollo, but what I lacked in natural inclinations I easily made up for with a Hufflepuff's unwavering tenacity and a Slytherin's ambition and skill.

But for all my grace with Rozen Krone, both sword form and recurve bow, merely being apt at combat isn't enough to survive on the surface. Knowledge is a knife sharper than any worldly blade, both mortal and otherwise, and I was determined to wield it with all the skill of a master assassin.

As I was already well aware of the content of a standard education, magical, godly, and otherwise, my studies were focused around history. After all, not all demigod heroes hail from Greece, and not all murderous monsters were immortalized in the vanilla legends.

Elizabeth Bathory was a serial murderer and the daughter of a lustful Siren. Muggle history claims she was executed by her fellows, after slaying others of the nobility. The truth was much darker, and more ironic. In life, Elizabeth bathed in the blood of her servants, believing it would make her skin softer and her form more beautiful; in death, she was cursed by Apollo after murdering his favored daughter, forced to take a horrid form far more disgusting than even a Kindly One. Now she was yet another monster, roaming the earth, searching out demigods of Apollo.

Frankenstein's Monster was a creature of raw instinct and violence, the creation of a son of Haphaestus who foolishly toyed with biological alchemy. When the young life forged in the heart of a sterilized laboratory realized what, exactly, Frankenstien had done to him, he went mad, breaking his chains with superhuman strength and brutally murdering his creator, his master, his father. Haphaestus, watching over the incident, was not pleased; and the Nameless Monster was cast into Tartarus, only to rise with a burning hatred for all of the Forging God's children.

Jack the Ripper was a mortal who could see through the mist, a mortal who could manipulate it far more easily than even I could dream of doing. He soon discovered the existance of the godly elite, and hungered for their power. He slew dozens of demigods over the decades, vanishing into the Mist, hidden so masterfully even the Twin Gods of the Sun and the Moon could not hunt him. He reached Hades an old man, suffering from a stroke at the impressive age of seventy eight. The Lord of the Underworld himself spat at the man's feet, throwing him into Tartarus, where he later ascended to the surface as yet another hungering monster.

And they were just three of thousands.

As a demigod, my first instinct when facing a known monster is to recall its no-doubt illustrious past. Knowing how, say, the mortal Hercules slayed Pasiphae's son could mean the difference between an early grave and living to fight another day; if I were facing down the lethal Minotaur, I would want to be well aware of a tried-and-true method of killing the fucking thing.

Swordsmanship. Archery. And history. But there was one more area of knowledge Moony taught me.

Magic.

_ "Moony?"_

_ "Rose..."_

_ "MOONY!"_

Not only was I not the only magical to be reincarnated, but Remus John Lupin recalled his past life as a wizard as well. (Point in fact, he remembered it far better than _I_ did.) He had even crafted his own wand.

He had been born to Poseidon and a young, mortal woman nearly two hundred years ago. Not only was he a skilled orator, but he was a near-legendary teacher as well, showing the ropes to godly children all across the world. He was so talented that Zeus and the Olympians banded together and granted him the same wish they had the centaur Chiron; immortality for as long as the world required his services.

When his _(our)_ father called him in to teach me, he assumed he was being forced to waste the next decade of his life teaching the art of killing shit to an arrogant, narcissistic princess. And while I am all of those things, I'm also a Slytherin at heart, and was therefore usually able to cover it up.

And so, he got me, instead.

He was overjoyed to see "Puzzle," as I was a niece to him in all but name. I was happy to hear that I grew a more profound bond with him, beginning in the trial that was Third Year, but even he knew little about the details of my life; unfortunately, I'll have to wait and hope that my memory blanks soon start filling themselves back in.

Like a system of gears finally clicking back into place, Moony and I fell into an easy teacher-student, uncle-niece relationship, like friends who knew each other for centuries. We talked of everything and nothing, from Transfiguration theorems to our favorite brand of chocolate, and I spent the full moons in my Animagus form right alongside him.

I was... _irritated..._ to learn that his curse stuck with him through reincarnation. I wasn't surprised, however; his lycanthropy, unique in this world, had long since become one and the same as his magical core. And the magical core will always reside in the soul.

He was the only other child of Poseidon, save for me, who had an affinity for the moon. But even then, there were... _differences... _as even he couldn't so much as begin to Astralize.

Days turned into weeks, weeks rolled into months, and months grew one-by-one until two full years passed within the confines of the Sunken City. I learned the names, histories, and weaknesses of over a thousand different monsters. I learned every flaw and weak point in the human body, and how to strike each of them within the span of mere seconds. And, with hands guided by intuition and desire, I crafted my own wand.

Crafted from Atlantian glass. Black as the deep, ocean waters, gleaming softly royal blue under direct light. Eleven inches from trident-emblazoned hilt to a sharpened and lethal point. Unyielding. With a core of the hair of Poseidon the Sea Lord, dowsed in water from the River Styx. Carved with interlacing crosses, like the scales of the famous Sea Monster, renowned for nearly killing my very own namesake.

I named it the Glass Wand. The Obsidian Wand. The Bladed Wand. The Wand of the Storm Lord.

And it was perfect.

* * *

**Camp Half-Blood**

**Long Island Sound, New York**

**December 13, 1999**

The favored daughter of Apollo rose from her lacquered bench at the base of Cabin Seven's dining table. She hummed along to the Weird Sisters' _Where You Belong_ resounding within her mind, absently weaving back and forth through the other tables and reaching the bonfire. Twirling airily, she dipped her plastic tray, gravity catching and dropping the fruit, vegetables, and assorted greens into the blazing hearth.

_"So you don't get too fat from all that meat, daddy."_

Offering complete, the reincarnated Ravenclaw began to skip away from the flaring coals. However, a large, screaming force of spontaneous magic slammed into her with all the force, weight, and momentum of a sixteen-wheeler freight truck. She faltered, nearly dropping to her knees, had it not been for the bracing cradle made from the daughter of Prometheus' arms.

"Whoa, there, love," Sinclair breathed. "Let's try not to trip over our own feet today, hmm? Rather not make a fool of yourself in front of the entirety of Camp Half-Blood." She seemed to think for a moment, before murmuring nigh inaudibly to herself. _"Not that you don't already, every bloody day."_

Even had the Seer been listening, she would not have responded; Rose always said that would just be giving them what they wanted. _"Now you listen to me, and listen well, my little moon-fey,"_ Rose had told her once. _"There are two ways to respond to a thug or a bully. The first, and preferred, method, is to hurl a Bone-Breaker at their face. They won't bother you after that; works every time, I can guarantee it. _

_ "However, if there are witnesses around, just bide your time; make them think you're too cowardly to respond. Then, when they're not looking... Bam! They wake up covered in venomous serpents."_

Rose's voice had been entirely too knowledgeable on that last part. But Rose is always right, so venomous serpents it is.

Of course, the Ravenclaw had not heard that casually cruel comment; luckily for Sinclair, saving her a month in the Big House recovering from snake bites. No, the Seer was deep in a magic-induced trance, a result from that sudden force of magic.

Like a cosmic light-switch, the dining pavilion of Camp Half-Blood was suddenly bathed in an unnatural darkness. Not a thing could be seen, not even a demigod's very own hands. Screams and Greek curses were severed before they could truly begin, as sound too perished all around Long Island Sound.

And then, a sole ray of silver, ethereal light shone down from the moon, striking the daughter of Apollo and illuminating the dark clearing. Every last demigod and supernatural being residing within Camp Half-Blood stilled, eyes drawn to the fey-like witch as if by a mass, overpowered Compulsion.

The scent of dust and serpent venom hung in the air. The Seer threw her head back, no longer requiring the aid of the daughter of Prometheus. A voice, sweet as any siren, echoed around the pavilion.

And she sang.

* * *

_ Luna Lovegood awakened to find herself in a forest._

_The moon was particularly luminous, that evening, bathing the Glade in cool, silver light. A black shadow covered the lustrous orb like a thick, woolen blanket, the songs of Morpheus keening as if to lay the divine goddess to rest. But a sliver of the moon still waxed ever larger, a shimmering Crescent against a backdrop of stars and deep, unending Darkness. The constellation of Canis Major seemed to glow with an ethereal, divine light._

_ Silver moonlight bathed the Glade, watering the foliage with her essence and blessing the wild domain with her power. Trees pierced the sky like an Imperial's legion of ever-sharpened lances, powerful and unyielding. Rare was the ray of light that snuck, slyly, through the varied branches and leaves, all with the sole intent to illuminate a certain mythical locale._

_ For deep within the forest habitat lay a clearing, devoid of all flora with a height risen taller than six inches above the ground, humming with arcane power. The space, as perfectly circular as it was completely natural, was darkened despite the many attempts of the moonlight above; or it would have been, had the Torches not kept the clearing alight with flickering firelight. As it was, there was naught but one dancing figure for the werelight to illuminate, save for the fields of thorny white roses and black morning glories._

_ The Torches were arrayed in symmetrical, twin Crescents, surrounding the gently swaying figure. The firelight flickered, revealing the form to be that of a young girl, with a mortal vessel no older than twelve years of age. Snowy, white hair swished gracefully through the breeze, catching in the wind like an angelic halo. A raised Cloak trailed in the wind behind her, shimmering glossy black in the silver light. Eyes shone like matching, silver moons, reflecting the Torchlight as if they were naught but glass, filled with a youthful energy and an aged wisdom both._

_ And still the figure danced. Long moments passed, although they could have been hours, or years; time was a human creation, and concerned not the contented fey._

_ There was a gentle gust of wind, catching branches of ages-old oak and ash, swishing foliage back and forth. A concentrated ray of moonlight broke through the treetops, shining warmly upon their Mistress, and the subtle sounds of the Glade stilled as if severed by an assassin's blade._

_ Wise eyes of liquid moonlight shone ever brighter._

_ A voice sweet enough to coax Death to tears resounded throughout the clearing._

_ And, she sung:_

_ "O Lady Magic, your favored sister has been betrayed!_

_ "O Andromeda, your lovely legacy lies bound in chains!_

_ "Whispers of moonlight, long since freed from beyond the Fade._

_ "Creatures of legend, what sacred grace flows through her veins?_

_ "Eternal enemy, the daughter of the fallen seeks your aid;_

_ "Flee south, for blood calls to blood, enmity broken or remade;_

_ "Freedom lies hidden from He Of A Thousand Names."_

_ And then, she awakened._

* * *

The unnatural stillness and darkness of Camp Half-Blood cut off, and like a dam breaking, loud conversations and opinions and demands were screamed into the afternoon sky.

No one had seen the Glade, save for the Seer herself, and even the daughter of Apollo had long since forgotten it. All the assorted demigods, satyrs, and dryads had seen was a supernaturally powerful force clamp down on their hearts, enabling the twelve-year-old girl to speak a Prophecy in peace.

But that peace had perished, now, shot through the heart by the screams and pitched discussions of the mortals.

After a long moment, Luna Lovegood, having once again fallen into the arms of the Titan's daughter, opened silver eyes; she looked around her with a sort of fascinated curiosity only a Seer could achieve. And then, she spoke.

"Did something interesting happen?"

* * *

**Atlantis**

**December 17, 1999**

I knew something was _very, very wrong_ the very moment I wandlessly pushed open the Training Room's double doors.

I may not remember it, but Remus and I are veterans of a seven-year war. Certain habits, precautions, and a high sense of constant awareness are byproducts of that type of life. Even dying and being reborn part god does not wipe clean that flavor of side effect.

First off, the Reinforced double-doors ought to have been thrice-locked, as they had been every single day these past two years. Furthermore, as this morning fell on a Friday, Moony should have immediately asked / interrogated me with the following question: _"so, any dreams last night?"_

To which, I would have responded: _"no, thank the Baron. I don't think I could have handled anymore of the same."_

He would have then replied with: _"lucky you. My mind thought playing that one incident my Fourth Year was a fantastic idea."_

Of course, an accomplished Legilimens could easily steal that knowledge from Moony's mind. Thus, we would then lock eyes for but a moment, exchanging a quick moment of mental contact, and verifying the purity of the other's magical signature.

_(I once asked Mad-Eye why we didn't just skip to the Mind Touch. He just laughed at me, refusing to reply; Blaise always thought the man merely got off on extreme precautionary measures... Curious, what flashes of insight return to me at the most inopportune times, wherein I cannot recall so much as the Hogwarts Express.)_

But the Mind Touch was unnecessary this morning, the dawn of my eighth birthday.

For this wasn't really Moony.

All that flashed through my mind in the moment it took me to disengage the doorways and glide inside. A part of me screamed to turn and run, calling for father or Triton or a Cyclops or _anyone, anyone at all - _

But a colder, more rational part of my psyche was well aware that I had already been caught in Arachne's web, so to speak. Faux-Moony would not be their only line of offense. My only chance at survival lay in tricking my assassins / abductors / attackers that I was still ignorant, thus lulling them into a false sense of security, and enabling me the opportunity to divine the perfect time to launch a counter-strike.

And so I casually strolled into the Training Room, nearing the far wall, passing beyond a shelf full of World War Two artifacts. The moment Faux-Moony's casual view of my neck was guarded by a bust of some demigod Prime Minister, I clicked and disengaged my Sea Trinket from its clasp around my silver thread necklace.

A flick of my wrist and the knife reassembled itself, twin sigils for _Banishment_ forming in black lead upon the blade's flat sides.

Lightning-quick was my sideways throw, the glass blade singing through the air and impaling itself into Faux-Moony's shoulder, dropping him like a marionette who's strings were severed. His face smashed against his warm, cherry-wood desk, knocking him out immediately. A thick cloud of Dark energy burst from my half-brother's soul, screaming painfully as it was scattered across the seven winds and discarded halfway across the world like litter.

The casual silence decimated, the double-doors were thrown open. Three Cyclopes with glazed eyes stood guard outside the Training Room's sole known entrance. A figure in a black cloak, face covered by a bone-white mask, stalked into the enclosure.

And the Death Eater raised a wand.

Knowing I couldn't help Moony, despite my desperate desire to stay and do just that, I turned and ran – _away from the doors._ For a war veteran's paranoia knows no bounds, and Moony – _the_ _real Moony – _had long since had a hideaway constructed.

Wishing long-distance teleportational magic worked in this godly world – Apparition, Portkeys, Phoenix Travelling, Vanishing Cabinets, _anything – _I flung open a hidden trapdoor and dropped hundreds of feet through a dark chute. I wandlessly unlocked the second trap-door at the very bottom mere seconds before I plummeted into it, an accident that would have led to an early (second) grave.

A single beat of my frantic heart before smashing into cold marble, I Astralized, the sole spacial magic that seems to work in this world thick with the Mist. I re-materialized down the long hallway in a burst of silver light, beginning the long trek towards my father's Throne Room.

I passed portraits, chandeliers, weaponry racks, shelves of priceless art, windows into the Atlantian deep, crossroads, and the occasional startled mermish servant. I ruthlessly ignored all of them, chain-Astralizing down hallway after hallway, succeeding in manifesting a killer migraine and cutting a half-hour long trip down to two-and-a-half minutes.

Moony's life was in my hands. I wasn't going to let my brother down.

At last I passed through a rich, golden entrance hall and smashed my way through massive, lavish doorways carved out of flawless Atlantian obsidian. I broke free and stumbled, painfully, to my knees, sliding and tearing up my skin as I skidded to the center of the Throne Room.

I threw my head back, desperately scanning the aristocratic enclosure for a sign of my loving father.

All I saw were dozens of glazed-eyed Cyclopes, mermen, and sea demons. No doubt suffering from the Dark effects of the Imperious Curse from their nameless Death Eater ally. Behind them, resting on my father's throne, lay the regal figure of Amphitrite. Her personal retainer kneeled beside her.

She looked...

… _Amused._

And I suddenly realized just how fucked I really was.

"So," the Queen of the Oceans dryly mused. She studied her immaculate nails, as if I were beneath her. After a long, hopeless moment, she continued. "You managed to escape Yaxley's clutches. I'll have to dock his pay, for this."

I didn't respond.

"This is how it's going to happen, _sweetheart. _You're going to follow Cetus here to a certain cliff-side down in Florida." She waved her hand to her very human-looking bodyservant, who didn't look anything like a legendary Sea Monster. It made sense to me, then, how he could so easily escape from Triton's clutches. "He's going to chain you up, just like they did to your namesake. Camera's are going to roll. And on the Solstice, in front of all of Olympus, your father is going to watch you be devoured. You understand?"

"Don't think I'm going to go willingly."

"Don't make me laugh." The Sea Queen snapped her fingers, mockingly. "You can't lay so much as a finger on me, _mortal."_

I collapsed in a wave of agony, somehow worse than the Cruciatus.

The only thought left in my mind? _Oh Moody, you'd be so ashamed of me._

I blacked out.

* * *

**A/N: For the more difficult to understand chapters, I'll post explanations in this here Author's Note. If you understood it fine, no need to read what's below this.**

**The first section is just catching up what happened in the last two years. Training, mostly, and the creation of her wand, which looks like a cross between a typical focus and a dagger. It's also made of obsidian, because of course it is; while it would never work in a normal wand, Atlantian obsidian is practically magic incarnate, so it works just as well as wood. And while she's no wandcrafter, considering the ingredients (and the fact that the wand was forged by a fuckin' Cyclops), it works just fine for her and only her.**

**Apollo is the god of prophecy, so it makes sense some of his children will have the Sight. Luna is one such character. She clearly remembers (much) of her past, so speaking a prophecy before there's even any need for it is within her range of power. Anyways, the fact she goes by Luna Lovegood instead of a newer name like Andi will _also_ be explained in the future.**

**As for the Glade? Well. I'll let you think what you want to think. I'll explain it... _later. _:P**

**By-the-by, there will be _no_ OC's in this story. Sinclair is a Potterverse character with a different name.**

**The last part is pretty self-explanatory.**

**(Note: Andi is now eight years old; Luna is twelve.)**

**Any questions, drop a review.**

**Toodles.**

**Whispers out.**


	6. The Lady Of The Lake

**A/N: Was going to upload this Friday, but felt bad for the cliffhanger last time. Will instead upload Chapter Seven Friday.**

* * *

_Historia Calamitatum_

_by Whispers Of A Mad God_

_Chapter Six; The Lady Of The Lake_

* * *

_ "Don't make me laugh." The Sea Queen snapped her fingers, mockingly. "You can't lay so much as a finger on me, ____mortal."_

_ I collapsed in a wave of agony, somehow worse than the Cruciatus._

_ The only thought left in my mind? "____Oh Moody, you'd be so ashamed of me."_

_ I blacked out._

* * *

**Camp Half-Blood**

**Long Island Sound, New York**

**December 18, 1999**

_"Are you all packed, darling? Do you have your toothbrush? Your wand? Spare changes of clothes? How about your monster-killing sword? The fluttershallows didn't take it again, did they?" _Apollo fretted like a mother hen, cooing at his _adorable_ daughter. Mildly panicking, he rifled through Lovegood's Space-Expanded messenger bag like an old crone would her purse.

"I'm fine, daddy!" The Ravenclaw smirked a haughty, lopsided smile, turning out more dorky than arrogant. She placed her hands on her hips, thrusting her chin up. "I'm the coolest koi in the pond, now. The fluttershallows wouldn't dare!"

_"Of course you are!"_ The teenager sun god dramatically raised his arms to the skies, before tackle-hugging the Prophetess. He honest-to-god _squealed,_ spinning her 'round and 'round and cooing at her disgruntled pouts. _"My cute daughter is off on her first quest! Oh, they grow up so fast."_ A single tear tracked down the face of the immortal prophecy god Apollo, and he wiped it away with a sniff. _"Oh, it seems like it was just yesterday you were toddling around and saying your first word: "Rose." Then you were checking out that Demeter girl's ass. Now you're off killing things! I'm...I'm..." _He sniffed again, choking up.

"You're what, daddy?" The Ravenclaw asked curiously, not at all embarrassed.

_"I'm just so proud of you!"_

* * *

"The fuck is she talking to?"

"Hmm?" Will Solace hummed, turning to the dark and beautiful daughter of Prometheus. "Say something?"

"Yeah. Luna. She keeps muttering in her sleep about koi fish."

"Oh. That." Will shrugged. "You get used to it, after a while."

"Bloody brilliant," the Titan's daughter muttered. She turned her back to her quest leader, arching her neck to see over Argus' shoulder. They were barely five miles away from Long Island Sound, the Camp's strawberry delivery van being their transportation of choice, and already she was irritated. "Why did I agree to come, again?"

"Because when a Seer says it's for the best, we shut up and listen?"

"Yeah, whatever."

It was at that moment, as Argus ran past a pothole in the gravel New York road, that the reincarnated witch startled awake. She looked around with wide, curious eyes.

She tilted her head to the side, as if in deep thought. Then, she spoke:

"Has Team Pufferfish already started off on the quest to slay the mighty Sea Monster?"

Will chuckled. "Team Pufferfish? Yeah, we have-" he stilled, eyes widening. _"What do you mean, Sea Monster! You didn't mention a Sea Monster, Luna!"_

"I didn't? Huh." She tilted her head to the side. "Whoops."

Sinclair just groaned.

* * *

**Atlantis**

**Room Forty Seven, Cell Block E**

**December 20, 1999**

The cell was, as Rose – Andi – would've described it, _"really fucking depressing."_

The enclosure was so cramped, Moony couldn't walk more than three paces from wall to wall without smashing into the dark, warded stone. Or so he estimated; the ceiling was barely four feet above the disgusting, mildew-infested ground. Mildew he was only aware of because it was the safest place to sit, because not only was the prison cell as dark as the ocean's floor, but it was covered in a thick layer of jagged, stone shards.

He had woken in here, free from that bastard Death Eater's Imperious, coming on three days ago. He remembered everything he had done under the Imperious, which included casting that very same Unforgivable at several other denizens of Atlantis. Most importantly, he remembered Andi – dear, darling Puzzlebox – casually impaling him with her knife.

_Good work, girl, _he chuckled to himself. For all the shard of obsidian hurt like a motherfucker, he was proud of his protege for not only recognizing his possession but not hesitating when she had to wound him.

The Banishment sigil on the knife's blade had forcibly ejected the possessive Imperious curse, and had he not fallen unconscious immediately afterwards, they might have been able to take down Yaxley – Cyclope bodyguards or no Cyclope bodyguards. With the head of the serpent beheaded, all his marionettes would be free of their Dark puppetmaster.

He knew, though, that it was only a matter of time until Yaxley dropped by for another visit. And this time, he would be ready.

He silently thanked the gods for granting him such a peculiar brand of immortality. No doubt Yaxley was expecting Remus to be starving and nearly dead from blood loss when he inevitably forced open that cell door. But what little ambient magic was trapped in the cell with him had long since healed that relative paper cut.

The warding in the stone walls prevented formless magic from coming in or out. As such, now that the stale, trapped magic in the cell had been fed to his wound, he was in a completely magic-dry environment; and it was like attempting to breathe at a mountain-top.

Thankfully, his core had been more-or-less full when he had been thrown, none-so-gently, into the cell.

* * *

At long last, the stone door to his cell swung open.

Yaxley was smirking at him, still in his Death Eater regalia, minus one bone-white mask. Behind him stood no less than three Cyclopes, each with eyes more glazed than the last. The ex-Death Eater, carefully not crossing the warding line, spoke.

"Remus... John... Lupin. I distinctly recall killing you, all those years ago back in London."

"And yet, here you are." Moony's grin grew wolfish, murderous, and not at all diminished despite his position lying prone on the disgusting ground. "So who finally did you in, you filthy snake?"

"The same bitch who beheaded Lucius," Yaxley responded glibly, yet with a dark undertone of barely concealed malice. "She who they called... the Mistress of Death."

Inwardly, Moony cheered.

"Perhaps, my... _employer... _will allow me a go at her bleeding corpse."

Moony growled.

"Oh, you thought she escaped? _Please._ She escaped right to the Throne Room, where Amphitrite was lying in wait." Yaxley continued to gloat, pacing back and forth in front of the warding line. "Cetus the Sea Monster – who's been working for Amphitrite for _millenia,_ by the by – has her chained up down in Florida. Just like her namesake, actually; using the very same enchanted Shackles they used on the whore. Going to broadcast her death to all of Olympus, and it. Will. Be._ Glorious."_

_ That's enough._

He hadn't spent these last two days doing nothing; no, by scraping jagged shards of fallen stone against jagged shards Moony was able to carve the Banishment sigil onto two separate makeshift throwing knives. With trace amounts of magic from his core, he activated them, and with lethal accuracy born from hundreds of years of practice the black, stone shrapnel fragments sung through the air.

The first impaled a Cyclops through the throat. The second, the heart.

A massive, twelve-foot frame collapsed to the floor, knocked unconscious from the agony of an Imperious forcibly ejected from his mind. Like a rubber band stretched taut, the magical whiplash staggered the Death Eater, giving Remus just enough time to make his escape.

He had been unable to step past the warding lines surrounding the cell; but the magic couldn't seep past the Cyclops' godly vessel, and so he somersaulted over his half-brother's body and stumbled to his feet, free at last, in the spartan hallway.

They had confiscated his wand and daggers, but not the sheathes: hellhound-leather weaponry holsters enchanted with a permanent, targeted Retrieval Charm. The moment he was free of the filthy cell magic shot out from the home-made artifacts, making a two-way connection with each of his Atlantian glass knives and wand. Moony waited but a heartbeat before unsheathing his favored weapons: wolf wand in his main hand, glass dagger in his left.

Much like Andi, and how he presumes Yaxley has, Moony crafted his own wand; forged from the spoils of war of his very first kill. Crafted from white hellhound bone, with a core of hair from his very own werewolf form, the lycan wand was twelve inches long and highly talented with the Dark Arts.

A skill he was about to put to grisly use.

"You handle our possessed comrade, brother!" Moony shouted to the second Cyclops, who was older and thus had already recovered from a thrown makeshift knife to the heart. "I'll kill the interloper. _Bombarda Maxima!"_

* * *

**Florida**

**December 22, 1999**

Breathtaking, ocean waves pounded against the cliff-side, drenching me with life-saving saltwater. The shining sun dazzled the clear waters, rays of light piercing the ocean and illuminating the seafloor. The air was fresh and thick with salt. The cries of seagulls echoed down the Florida coastline, a natural symphony of freedom and peace.

Too bad I was bound in cold, iron chains, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Else it would've been like a fucking vacation.

I was naked, forced against a jagged, stone column of rock and wet earth. A single rope of chain links bound me to the natural structure, unnaturally frozen and cold to the touch, despite the curiously warm Florida air. My forearms were bent skywards painfully, my legs useless curled underneath me.

I was a mere three feet above water level, the cliff face behind me watching my back. Every handful of seconds another wave from the sea crashed into me, stealing my breath away with pure, kinetic force.

It should have been easy, escaping. I was in my father's domain, after all. I could Astralize and reappear on the cliff top, or soak in the ocean's power and explode, disintegrating the chains, or wandlessly banish them away from me, or-

But, I couldn't. Because whatever strange, unnatural power lay within these chains locked all my magical and godly talent away, leaving me little more than a pathetic muggle. With these Shackles binding me to the rock, I was _helpless._

And I fucking _hated_ it.

Another crashing wave empowered me. For a single heartbeat I felt nourished, protected, _safe. _Then the water receded, and the chains sucked all that power away again.

It's been like this for days.

Apparently, as a daughter of the Sea Lord, I didn't need sustenance when in contact with the ocean. It's the only reason I hadn't died yet, suffering from heatstroke, over-eager crows, malnourishment, dehydration, or starvation. Because my jailer sure as hell didn't feed me.

Minutes bled away, then hours. I could barely think, the sparse amounts of saltwater not quite enough to sate me. I began to feel dizzy. It wasn't long before the phantom voices started.

_"... because, I am totally a valuable member of this team! She needs me, the greedy bitch! How dare she cut my paycheck? I'm, like, sticking my neck out for her stupid assassination attempt- hey, halfblood! Are you even listening to me?"_

I groaned. Unluckily, I _wasn't_ hearing voices. I'd prefer insanity or heatstroke over this bitch.

"Hey, look at me when I am monologuing!" Viviane stalked past the column of stone I was bound to, stopping in front of my nude, seated form and huffing. Childishly, she stamped a foot into the slick stone, nearly causing her to slip and tumble into the water (again). "I have serious issues with my boss I need to rant about!"

"I'm not your psychologist," I muttered. My head was pounding, my mind-to-mouth filters utterly destroyed. Like I always did in stressful situations, I subconsciously began to channel my inner James Potter. "But if you throw me a drachma every half-hour I might reconsider."

_"I don't need a psychologist!"_ She screamed, lashing out with a violent kick against my skull. I wheezed in pain, an extended experience of agony, but had been expecting it. She had reacted exactly the same the last time I insinuated about her mental state.

"Guess you're right," I ground out past gritted teeth. "You need an anger management counselor."

Seething, but not able to hurt me without proving me right, she spun and stalked away. Her short, white skirt billowed in the wind, giving me a view I appreciated but was too busy aching to really care for. She absently played with the hem of her cherry red blouse, toying with her long, blonde locks, and nibbling at her pink lips.

While not really my type, Viviane was stunningly beautiful. Her legs seemed to run on forever and her curves would make a runway model green with envy. The mortals didn't really stand a chance, though; Viviane was some rare breed of naiad/minor goddess/spirit. She was unique, basically.

After she (finally) managed to cool off, she glided back over to me, leaning forward and crossing her arms underneath her (impressive) chest. I didn't bother hiding my rude gaze. At last, she asked: "don't you know who I am, halfblood?"

"Yeah," I smirked. "You were Merlin's whore."

Screech fit for a banshee, she kicked me again.

I swore in ancient Greek, spitting out a lungful of crimson blood.

"I am Viviane, the Lady of the Lake! I am the spirit incarnate of Avalon itself! When Zeus' bastard Arthur Pendragon kneeled before me, I gifted him with the legendary blade Excalibur! When the great knight Lancelot was left orphaned, I raised him from the cradle! I know more magic than Merlin himself, and I trapped him beneath the earth! And guess what? _HE'S STILL THERE!"_

_ "Boo!"_ I called out mockingly, shaking my head in faux ruefulness. If I could have, I would've given her two thumbs down. "You traded sex for power. Admit it, you're a whore."

_"I AM NOT A PROSTITUTE!"_

As she lunged for my throat, she forgot a little detail; namely, that my lower half wasn't bound, and I was thus able to lash out as well. The resulting kick to the gut had Merlin's lover crashing into the icy Florida waters.

I cackled in mad glee, knowing I was _so_ dead but not really caring. Sunstroke does that to the best of us.

"One would think the Lady of the Lake to have _some_ power over water. For shame, Viviane, for shame."

She crawled back up to land, designer clothing wet, transparent, and sticking to her skin, a murderous gleam in her eyes. She didn't care about "The Plan" anymore; she was going to slaughter me, no matter what Amphitrite would say.

I was saved from certain death by the strangest, and most insanely awesome, battlecry I've ever heard.

_"Team Pufferfish, slay the ugly monster!"_

The Lady of the Lake was _livid._

I laughed all the harder.

Then, disrupting the tumultuous scene, a curiously mundane noise - one I haven't heard in ages; a ringtone. The legendary scream from Aerosmith's _Dream On_ tore through the air and, while the song choice certainly rose my dismal respect for the spirit of Avalon a notch or two, was so out of place that not only I, but the three demigods upon the cliff, and the Lady of the Lake herself all froze in muted shock. She removed the drenched but somehow still functioning cutting-edge flip phone from a previously unnoticed pocket, flicking it open and pressing the device to her ear, moving mostly by reflex at this point.

"Viviane of Avalon speaking. Yep. Yeah, the godling is right here. Some questers too, somehow. Uh-huh. The Solstice meeting already begin? Brill. Sea Monster in position? Yep. Got it, boss. Now, about that raise-"

There was a beep signifying a dropped call; the Lady of the Lake frowned at her cell. Then, a feminine, mechanically pre-recorded voice:

_"Live on Olympus, in Three!"_

For some reason, perhaps merely from the absurdity of the situation, not only I but the unnamed demigods of "Team Pufferfish" were silent and unmoving while my captor spoke to her employer over the phone. We had been having a tense moment, filled with shouts and taunts and battlecries and the threat of death - now, we were oddly lax while Amphitrite ordered my eminent devouring.

_"Two!"_

Heartbeats before my bewilderment wore off and I returned to mocking Viviane, albeit not as harshly as she had wonderful taste in music, I was disrupted by a terrifying roar.

_"One!"_

A truly massive Sea Monster, appearing more like an underwater dragon than any mundane serpent, crashed through the surface waters from the deep and broke into the sky. Where he came from, as the waters of this segment of the Florida coastline were crystal clear, I don't know; nor did I care, as I was far too distracted by the monstrous beast before me.

_"GO!"_

No wonder Perseus petrified it with Medusa's ugly face. I don't want to go near that thing either.

Because, roaring at me with all the hatred of an unfulfilled, ages-old vendatta, was a sixty-foot winged serpent with fangs larger than my entire body. The Sea Monster had slimy. green scales, inked with black splotches, covering the entirety of its immensely muscled, serpentine form. A burst of white-hot flame erupted from its gaping maw, licking at the air and drowning out all ambient noise from its sheer pitch and power.

It turned to me, baring its fangs wide, and roared a challenge - a challenge I somehow instinctively understood.

A single word.

_"DIE!"_

And then, it charged.

_Oh, fuck me._

* * *

**Atlantis**

**That Same Day**

The fucking Death Eater ran away, the coward.

Two days Remus has been tracking him across Olympus. Two days he has been Banishing the Imperious Curses possessing various mermen, Cyclopes, and minor gods. He hadn't eaten, he hadn't slept. Whenever exhaustion crept up on him like some stereotypical monster underneath the bed, Remus would dowse himself with an _aguamenti_ and trek forwards regardless.

Had he been anywhere other than Olympus, he would have long since fallen comatose from magical exhaustion alone. But he was in a palace constructed out of pure, godly energy, miles beneath the ocean's surface. For a child of the Sea Lord, merely thinking about it was akin to getting high off nectar and ambrosia.

His wand was slick in his hand, white bone wand painted red from blood and sweat. He hadn't had the opportunity to sheathe it in... fuck, thirty or so hours. Remus didn't think he could, at this point. It might as well be superglued to his flesh.

The Reclamation of Atlantis, as his godly relatives had taken to calling it after he freed them from Yaxley's web of Dark magic, was going poorly. During the Second Blood War, a hundred Death Eaters couldn't do what Yaxley was easily doing with lazy strokes of his wand. Whatever was powering him – whatever was fueling his magic – was potent, reliable, and bottomless.

It was almost like Yaxley was a son of Poseidon as well. Almost.

I rounded a corner in the Cyclopes' Quarter only to come face-to-face with three more of my possessed brethren. Clenching my teeth, I took advantage of the moment of opportunity to fire off an Impediment Jinx to the lead Cyclops' kisser.

As intended, my temporary enemy was far too close for me to make it through the blast of magic unscathed. I was propelled backwards, catching my fall in a backwards roll, leaping to my feet with dagger and wand in my readied hands.

My knife hurtled through the air, catching the lead Cyclops in the gut before he so much as crashed back down to earth. While such a wound would normally be but a pin prick to a Cyclops, the Banishment sigil was more than enough to free my half-brother from the Imperious. Unfortunately, the agony of forced freedom from the Dark magic caused the massive humanoid to fall unconscious.

The other two Cyclops spared not a glance for their fallen comrade, rushing me immediately. I Summoned the dagger back towards me, the blade freeing itself from Cyclopian flesh only to impale itself into the charging Cyclops' back.

I spun and ducked, rolling under the sole remaining enemy's wild haymaker. It wasn't hard; the blacksmith was so massive, there was plenty of space.

I fired off an overpowered Tripping Jinx, a prank spell rarely used in actual combat. But a heartbeat later I artfully Transfigured a segment of the broken marble ground, the jagged shards of rock forming a spear, melded into the floor itself, with a tip shaped like a Banishment rune.

The Cyclops fall was momentum enough for the rune-tipped spear to embed itself into the massive form.

Three non-lethal take-downs complete, I cast a silent Point Me tracking spell and made my way down more hallways, stopping only to retrieve my blade. I had freed those Cyclopes just yesterday from Yaxley's Dark influence. Now, it was time to sever the head of the snake.

* * *

**A/N: You know how, at the top Author's Note, I said I felt guilty for leaving you all on a cliffhanger last time? Yeah, I lied. Here's a double cliffhanger. And, guess what? _Next chapter is a cliffhanger too._**

**You can thank Extended Experience. It was his idea. :)**

* * *

**The Lady of the Lake was originally intended to be one of the many daughters of Amphitrite; however, they all had horribly difficult names. Since I've already made references to King Arthur and his Round Table being demigods, I drew from my love of Arthurian literature for Andi's jailer. It was bittersweet, making Lady Avalon a spoiled, oh-no-I-spilled-my-Starbucks princess. Totally worth it though.**

**(Note: Lady Avalon's name differs, depending on the legend. She goes by Viviane, Nimue, Nyneve, Avary, and others.)**

**In case it wasn't clear, Apollo visited Luna in her dreams. I figure it's the easiest way around the pesky "no direct interference" laws that Poseidon doesn't seem to give a damn about.**

**(Where Poseidon and Triton have been while their kingdom is under attack from the inside will be revealed next chapter.)**

**Toodles.**

**Whispers out.**


End file.
